


Shut Your Eyes

by lizzehboo, skyline



Category: Big Time Rush
Genre: Closeted, Concussions, Domestic Violence, Drug Abuse, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-13
Updated: 2013-07-31
Packaged: 2017-12-21 23:16:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 26
Words: 113,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/906109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizzehboo/pseuds/lizzehboo, https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyline/pseuds/skyline
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Future!Fic. Kendall returns to L.A. six years after Big Time Rush disbanded. James has been missing for years. Imagine how things change when James reappears in his life. And he needs help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Cassie took the evens, I took the odds.

**Title:** Shut Your Eyes  
 **Authors:** [](http://goten0040.livejournal.com/profile)[**goten0040**](http://goten0040.livejournal.com/) and [](http://garnetice.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://garnetice.livejournal.com/)**garnetice**  
 **Chapter:** 1  
 **Rating:** M  
 **Ship(s):** Kendall/James, Carlos/Stephanie, maybe more.  
 **Summary:** Future!Fic. Kendall returns to L.A. six years after Big Time Rush disbanded. James has been missing for years. Imagine how things change when James reappears in his life. And he needs help.

_Breathe in._

_Breathe out._

I felt my chest tighten as the stick connected with my face, my helmet jerking upwards, my neck aching as it snapped back, sweat suddenly flying off my chin and nose, mixing with very red drops of blood from the slice across my cheek.

My hockey stick clattered against the ice. I remembered hearing it before I followed it to the ground.  
The real beauty of hockey has always been its animalistic, violent nature – at least, that was what I had come to convince myself over the years. I always found it fascinating how brutal I became on the ice – how everyone became on the ice. All I could hear was the clatter of hockey sticks, the swish of skates, and my breath – my breath snaking between my lips.

_Breathe in._

_Breathe out._

Players were always particularly harsh with me on the ice. It wasn’t every day that a former boyband leader was whooping them. Anyone who had done choreographed dance moves and sung about girls wasn’t exactly considered a threat, and thus led to their untimely doom. Of course, when a guy who had done choreographed dance moves and sung about girls kicked another, tougher guy’s ass – people tended to get offended.

“Faggot,” was hissed in my direction as my eyelids fluttered open. The referees were dragging him away.

“Kendall! Man, are you okay?” I was hazily being helped to my feet. They were sitting me on the bench and yanking the helmet off my head, my cropped hair sticking to my forehead in a mix of sweat and blood. “Fuck. Get the medic over here. This is bad. Try to stay with me Knight, alright?”

I nodded, though I wasn’t completely sure what I was nodding for.

I was 28 when I was forced to take a leave of absence from the Minnesota Wild due to a head injury.

Things sure had changed, that was for sure.

Of course, being a boyband wasn’t going to last forever. I think we all knew that. Three years was a damn good run for a group that thrived on the teenage girl set. Because, hey, teenage girls had the attention span of, like, what, a squirrel? Maybe? Either way they were pretty much dumb as fuck and not the kind of fans I was looking for. It was fairly simple what we would do after Big Time Rush disbanded.

Whatever the fuck we wanted.

So Logan went off to medical school, I went back home to start playing hockey professionally, and Carlos stayed behind with James. James started a solo career, and Carlos… well, Carlos really didn’t know what he wanted, just that he wanted to be with James, who was really the only person that completely, totally got him. Of course, Carlos had eventually settled on acting – which he was actually pretty good at – and life went on with our fabulous foursome… well… separated.

I guess I’d be lying if I didn’t think it was really weird at first. Weird and lonely. We tried to stay in touch, and for the most part, we did. But after about six years, everyone had gotten caught up in life and we relied on emails, texts, and the random phone call to catch up. For three of us anyway.

The last I had heard of James had been three years before. It was a text from Carlos. _James is gone. No one knows where he went. All his stuff has disappeared._

.

My cell phone rang. One of those stupid, obnoxious rings that came with the phone because I’d been too lazy to change it when I bought it. Of course, I seriously regretted my decision when that awful noise pierced through my ears. When I saw the caller ID, however, I couldn’t help but smile slightly as I brought it up to my ear.

“Well, if it isn’t the Loginator. How’re you?” I responded cheerfully, slamming the door to my car and making my way up the driveway to my humble home.

“Aren’t we a little old for you to be calling me Loginator?”

“Age ain’t nothin’ but a number, Logie…. Damn. Has it really been six years since we last saw each other?”

“Those numbers are pretty jarring, aren’t they?”

“Yeah, I guess they are a little bit.”

It really had been six years since I had seen my friends face-to-face. We had talked on the phone of course, and I had seen Carlos on television, but our schedules never really permitted our seeing each other. It was jarring indeed. Age was a number, but my number was creeping up on 29 and that was pretty fucked up. I found myself wondering if I was really fulfilled after all. I’d been playing hockey for six years, and that was pretty much it. I mean, yes, there had been a few people on the side here and there, a few one night stands, some wild parties, but nothing… meaningful. Not since Big Time Rush disbanded.

“Well, listen. I know I haven’t called in awhile, but I just recently got some vacation and I was thinking of heading up to L.A. to see Carlos. You want to go?”

“Um…” I felt like Logan had read my mind – which wouldn’t be all that shocking because he still had this sort of mental link to me even after such a long time apart.

“I know its short notice, but maybe the team can let you go from a few practices? Just for a few days? It’ll be an old fashioned reunion!”

Of course, he didn’t know I had been given a leave of absence from the team.

“Oh, um… I don’t know man. I’ll need to check my schedule. When are you headed out?”

It wouldn’t be exactly simple to meet up. We were all on opposite sides of the country. Logan had taken up doctoring in Florida and was currently flirting it up the rest of his time with a gorgeous red-head with long dark eyelashes and a flare for danger. Her name was Jeanine or Jenny or… something. I didn’t really know. Any red-head’s I’d made out with had been strictly of the male variety. Logan didn’t know that either.

“Probably in the next couple of days. Think you can get out there? I think Carlos would be so excited.”

“How is he anyway?”

“Oh, you know. Going through the motions. I got an email from him the other day. Did you hear that his wife’s pregnant?”

Carlos had gotten married a year before – to none other than Stephanie King from the Palm Woods. I couldn’t believe that they’d met up again, but she had been directing a horror film in which he auditioned. He didn’t get the part, but he sure as hell got the director.

“Really? Damn, where does the time go?”

“I know. It’s crazy.”

I didn’t know why I was so hesitant to meet up again. Maybe it was facing something I felt guilty for walking away from. Maybe I didn’t want to get caught up in the whirlwind that was the Hollywood scene again.  
Maybe I didn’t want to meet up with the others only to know there was still a missing piece to the puzzle. James.

“Come on, Kendall. I think it would be really good for us to get away for a little bit. Maybe… get into some trouble?” Logan hated getting in trouble. I could tell he was using it to convince me.

It worked. I smirked rather fondly at the thought. “Maybe a little trouble could do us good. Tell you what,

I’ll get online and look up plane tickets and see what I can come up with. I’ll be in touch.”

“Alright!”

“I’ll talk to you later, Logie. Love you.”

“Love you too. Later man.”

The phone clicked and I found myself standing on my stoop, shivering, not even realizing that I’d probably been standing at my front door for a good ten minutes at least. It was late October, the beginning of hockey season, and in Minnesota, that meant it was more like Fucking-Cold –Tober, as my coach so fondly had put it during an early session a while back. I couldn’t believe that one game in and I was already disbanded from the group. My fingertips grazed the white scar across the top of my left cheekbone, and I frowned. Guy got what he wanted, that was for sure.

I unlocked the door and made my way inside, and the house felt… oddly empty.

I supposed it was just something I would have to deal with.

.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Future!Fic. Kendall returns to L.A. six years after Big Time Rush disbanded. James has been missing for years. Imagine how things change when James reappears in his life. And he needs help.

**Title:** Shut Your Eyes  
 **Authors:** [](http://goten0040.livejournal.com/profile)[**goten0040**](http://goten0040.livejournal.com/) and [](http://garnetice.livejournal.com/profile)[**garnetice**](http://garnetice.livejournal.com/)  
 **Chapter:** 2  
 **Rating:** M  
 **Ship(s):** Kendall/James, Carlos/Stephanie, maybe more.  
 **Summary:** Future!Fic. Kendall returns to L.A. six years after Big Time Rush disbanded. James has been missing for years. Imagine how things change when James reappears in his life. And he needs help.  
 **Previous Chapters:**[1](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/852.html#cutid1)

Heading out to California didn’t strike me as a vacation. It felt more like going home.  
  
Weird, right? I’d only lived in Hollywood for five years, half of them on tour. Returning to Minnesota when I was recruited by the Wild was a dream. It was my birth state, the place I’d grown up. But once I got back, I discovered real quick; home had always been wherever Carlos, Logan, and James were. And I hadn’t been in the same place as any of them for, well, forever.  
  
Imagine you’re about to see your family for the first time in years, a completely different person than who you used to be. Can you do it?  
  
It made me sick.  
  
I settled further into the stiff airline seat, my stomach turning in perfect accompaniment with my jittery nerves. The stale airplane smells weren’t helping; peanuts and urine and recycled air. Neither was the view outside of the plane; gray and overcast, like we were about to experience a whole lot of turbulence.  
  
I’d spent the whole ride next to an old woman chattering about her California Dreams and wishing I’d splurged on First Class. It wasn’t like I didn’t have the cash. I knew once I arrived I wouldn’t be able to complain about the tiny seats or the insufficient leg room; then Logan would want to know why I’d gone for coach. Admitting I hadn’t wanted to spend the time alone with my thoughts and a helpful stewardess offering me miniature bottles of vodka and shiny packets of peanuts seemed kind of pathetic, so no. I wasn’t planning on saying a word.  
  
Still, I hadn’t planned on hearing anybody’s life story, either. I finally ended up begging off, making the executive decision to drown out the world with the idiotic chick flick the flight offered up as entertainment.  
  
That didn’t help either.  
  
I was a wreck, and I knew it.  
  
There was this thing James used to do before concerts. He was the only person I’d ever met who was just, _made_ for show business. I mean, he was a natural. Which didn’t mean he never freaked. Before every single concert I could remember, James would psych himself out- get into this state where he was near paralyzed with terror. And then he’d close his eyes, and I don’t even know- have this inner dialogue that no one else was ever privy too and- bam. He’d suddenly burn bright as a star, totally fearless. I’d never been like him. Few things scared me.  
  
But right then, I kind of wished that I knew what he used to say to himself to make him stand so straight, dance so well. What words could make a person sing to audiences of thousands, make them vibrant and loud and alive when they’d been near comatose minutes before? I could’ve used words like that, to give me strength.  
  
I must have fallen asleep trying to puzzle them out, because the next time I opened my eyes the captain was announcing that we’d begun our descent. The old lady with big time dreams was asleep on my shoulder, drooling a little. Out the window the clouds had cleared, and I could see palm trees and Caribbean blue swimming pools, the terracotta roofs of row after row of white washed stucco housing intermingled with faded pastel beach bungalows. The Pacific Ocean glimmered thousands of feet below, a silver sea full of surfers and sharks too tiny to spot. We’d arrive in LAX in less than half an hour, where the houses would turn to highways and landscaped lawns as recognizable as the back of my hand.  
  
I’d made this flight more times than I could count; not just from Minnesota, but from Tokyo, from Paris, from Madrid. The second our plane touched down, I breathed it in. _Home_. Fucking finally.  
  
For a split second, I wondered why it had taken me so damn long to come back.  
  
I waited patiently until we could disembark, intimately familiarized with the drudging routine of watching people grab their carry-ons from the overhead bins and trek slowly down the aisles. A turtle could beat any one of them. All I had with me was a bright red duffel bag emblazoned with the Wild’s crest.  
  
When I walked out into the gate, the sun streaming through the floor to ceiling windows nearly blinded me. I wanted coffee and a nap, but I obediently made my way out of the terminal and down to the baggage claim where I was supposed to meet Logan. His flight had arrived about an hour and a half before mine, and I imagined he’d happily murder me if I made him wait longer. For a doctor, he was surprisingly low on patience.  
  
I’d just stepped off the escalator when a twenty something college girl in an NYU sweatshirt asked if I wasn’t from _that boy band_.  
  
I wanted to say no.  
  
An arm swung ‘round my shoulders and cut off my response.  
  
“He is,” the arm snaked around to grab my chin and wiggle it, “Isn’t he growing up _handsome_?”  
  
“Ohmigod,” the girl said, “You too! Wow. I thought you guys had like, died or something.”  
  
Then she walked away.  
  
“Wow, she was a _sweetheart._ Years playing hockey and BTR’s still your claim to fame,” I turned to watch as Logan shook his head appreciatively.  
  
“No one recognizes me without the helmet,” I shrugged, my lips twisting with amusement. One of us was going to break in seconds, and I refused to be first.  
  
Okay, I totally caved.  
  
I grabbed him for a huge bear hug and had no intention of letting go, ever. Into his neck, I mumbled, “It has been way too long.”  
  
Logan chuckled, “And whose fault is that? I think I’ve asked you to come down to Florida at least once a month.”  
  
Lightly, I shoved him back a little, before hugging him again. He smelled like Florida, like citrus and humidity, but beneath that, I could catch the same pine-scented cologne he’d been wearing since he hit puberty. It evoked memories of climbing trees and tumbling over each other in my old living room and late night study sessions back when the future was wide open and inviting.  
  
“So,” he said, disentangling himself from my grip with a good natured laugh, “Carlos is supposed to pick us up.”  
  
I made a face. It was a nice gesture, but the airport was kind of out of his way, and we were perfectly capable of catching a cab, “Why?”  
  
“It’s Carlos. He misses us.”   
  
Well, I couldn’t really argue with that.   
  
Together, Logan and I made our way over the baggage claim to wait for my luggage; which was weird. I wasn’t used to traveling with more than my duffel and the clothes on my back, these days.   
  
We were still waiting for my single, unremarkable suitcase to make its way down the carousel when Carlos found us. Found us might be an understatement. What he actually did was jump onto my back like a baby monkey, sending me careening into Logan. We all fell down in a heap, Carlos’s elbow in my mouth and Logan’s knee in my stomach. The cloth of Carlos’s hoodie tasted like marinara and chicken tenders; he was obviously still a sloppy eater.   
  
Flying attacks and food stains. Just like old times, man.   
  
“Guys!” Carlos squeaked, ecstatic, his voice muffled under my shoulder blade, “I’m so happy you’re here!”  
  
“We’re- ugh, get off- happy too,” I shoved Carlos over, a bulb flash in the corner of my eye alerting me that we weren’t, in fact, alone. I clambered to my feet, dusting off my jeans, “I think your fans are here.”  
  
Carlos waved them away, jumping up with way too much energy, and gripping my shoulders way, way too tight, “Pssh. They’re probably here for _you_.  Who’s an NHL superstar?”  
  
“I am,” I replied faintly, swallowing back bile, a phantom pain in my head throbbing in time to my pulse. I hadn’t told either of them about the injury that had slammed the brakes on my career.  
  
“I’m okay, if anyone cares,” Logan groaned from the slick floor. A group of tourists from Germany stepped delicately over his legs. Carlos laughed and we both bent down to give our friend a hand.  
  
“Of course we care,” Carlos cheered, “Stephanie would strangle me if I brought one of you back broken.”  
  
“Back?” I queried, trying to gather my bags and ignore the blinding photo flashes that used to be a huge part of my everyday life but now felt alien and obscene. Sure, I was still used to photogs during a game, but they were coming at me behind the glass and layer after layer of protective gear. This open blitz on my friends’ and my personal life made me feel vulnerable, exposed. Even if they were just gunning for Carlos.  
  
“You’re coming for dinner, duh. Don’t say no, _pleasedon’tsayno_ ,” he said in a rush, “She’s been cooking all day, and pregnancy- makes women _scary_. If I don’t come home with guests to feed, little Carlos Jr. might end up fatherless.”  
  
“Is it a boy?” Logan perked up.  
  
“As long as it’s willing to skateboard down the roof with me, who cares?”  
  
He beckoned us out of the terminal and into the fresh air, turning a goodbye wave at the paps into a semi-rude gesture. He was so completely at ease with this life I’d forgotten how to live. We emerged from the protruding cement that made up overhangs and pedestrian bridges towards the towering parking garage. In the distance I could hear the roar of the planes and see the flight tower looming, the yellow-white of bone in the distance.  
  
Carlos was talking a mile a minute about his career, about Stephanie, about what anyone and everyone we might know in passing was doing. The sunlight hit my shoulders, too hot. I remembered this- the heat made it hard to think clearly. It had always made me more brash and reckless, coerced me into making stupid decisions. The first time I kissed a boy, it had been a sweltering autumn afternoon like this.   
  
I hated how cloudy my head got. My friends were the ones who preferred sunny climates and people with plastic smiles. Give me the ice and the clarity any day.   
  
Still, I blame the mugginess on what happened next, what I said. Carlos was still talking so fast it was like he thought the world might end before he finished what he wanted to say, and maybe I was the oncoming apocalypse, because before I could stop myself I choked out, “I, uh…don’t supposed either of you have, um, heard from James?”  
  
The guys exchanged looks, and Carlos said slowly, “Nah. I would have told you.”  
  
“Me neither,” Logan echoed, but I must have had some kind of stricken expression on my face because that’s when he pasted on a big, sunny smile that was so phony it immediately became obvious to everyone in the nearby vicinity why _Carlos_ was the professional actor. He said in his best casual voice, reeking of bedside manner, “-but you know James. He’s probably so focused on his solo career that he forgot the rest of us exist.”  
  
“And his hair,” Carlos added with a matching, more believable winsome smile, “He gets really focused on his hair.”  
  
I rolled my eyes, “For three years? C’mon, guys. If he had a solo career, don’t you think we’d know? Have either of you heard him on the radio?”  
  
“No?” they chorused meekly.   
  
“He’s not exactly a low profile kind of guy,” I added.   
  
“You don’t know. Maybe his career’s in- South America,” Logan supplied.   
  
“Yeah, he could be a rockstar in Brazil.”  
  
“Seriously? You guys aren’t worried? At all?”  
  
The fake grins fell. Carlos said, “We are. Man, you have no idea how much I hope he’s a rockstar in Brazil. I keep having nightmares that he got cut down by a serial killer. But dude, what are we supposed to do? He moved out of the mansion and didn’t even bother reselling. I drove by a few months ago; it’s being foreclosed. His cell’s been disconnected for years. _No one_ has seen him. Believe me, I looked.”  
  
I felt an unreasonable anger ripple through me. Maybe it was the image Carlos had just stuck in my brain of James lying dead in a ditch somewhere, or maybe it was just the fact that he’d been doing something and I…well, hadn’t. When I’d first gotten Carlos’s text that James was MIA, I’d figured it was a joke. We were all beginning to forge down the path of our dreams, at the time. Logan had just graduated med school, and Carlos had landed his biggest part yet. I was only months away from winning my first national championship. I only began to understand it wasn’t a big prank when it was already too late. My fists clenched involuntarily at my sides, “You should have looked harder.”  
  
James wasn’t dead. At least, three years ago he hadn’t been. Logan, always the brightest of us, had called the police. They’d summarily dropped the case for reasons they wouldn’t disclose. Meaning at the very least, he still had some credit card activity and no bodies had washed up in Malibu or Venice Beach.   
  
“I tried, man. I really did.”  
  
“Kendall,” Logan placed a hand on my arm, his fingers warm and strong from all that time holding a scalpel, “It’s not Carlos’s fault. James just- fell out of contact with all of us. He must not want to be found.  
  
Mostly, that was what I was afraid of. I scowled at him, but what could I do? James was off the grid, and I wasn’t the only one worried about him. Carlos and Logan were his best friends too.   
  
Besides, I was on vacation. The most stressful part of my day was supposed to be driving up the 101 to the In-N-Out on Cahuenga for some animal fries.   
  
Only, thing is, I couldn’t stop the tiny, niggling feeling that maybe James had disappeared because of something we’d done. It was entirely plausible that he’d stopped calling because we’d all been so busy that we’d stopped picking up. Pulling a vanishing act was the next obvious move.   
  
What else are you supposed to do when you feel like a ghost?  
  
[Chapter Three](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1511.html#cutid1)


	3. Shut Your Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Future!Fic. Kendall returns to L.A. six years after Big Time Rush disbanded. James has been missing for years. Imagine how things change when James reappears in his life. And he needs help.

**Title:** Shut Your Eyes  
 **Authors:** [](http://goten0040.livejournal.com/profile)[**goten0040**](http://goten0040.livejournal.com/) and [](http://garnetice.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://garnetice.livejournal.com/)**garnetice**  
 **Chapter:** 3  
 **Rating:** M  
 **Ship(s):** Kendall/James, Carlos/Stephanie, maybe more.  
 **Summary:** Future!Fic. Kendall returns to L.A. six years after Big Time Rush disbanded. James has been missing for years. Imagine how things change when James reappears in his life. And he needs help.

Chapter Three

Carlos’ home was bustling. It was really the only adjective I could think of. As soon as we walked through the door, my ears were filled with the clanging of pots and pans, the barking of dogs (one looked mysteriously like Lightning), and the stereo turned up playing – you guessed it – Big Time Rush.

The nostalgia rushed over me so quickly, I was left standing in the doorway in shock for just a few moments.

“Kendall?” Logan asked. “You okay?”

I nodded blankly. “Y-yeah. I’m fine.” I paused, smelling the air.

“Mmm, Carlos, if your wife’s food tastes as good as it smells, I’m in for a major treat.”

“Oh, it does. It does. Come on in you guys, come meet the wifey!”

“We know your wifey,” Logan laughed, following on ahead. I lagged a little behind, my eyes scanning the plush living room. There was a black lab on the sofa, and the television was blaring cartoons, and a pinball machine in the corner. There were definitely feminine touches from Stephanie (I hoped), but Carlos’ personality emanated from the walls of the house. Our first album was still pounding in the back of my skull and it made me want to run and shut it off.

The songs inspired something in me; a nostalgic, lonely feeling, and every time James’ voice slipped through the speakers, I was more and more angry with myself that he wasn’t there with us.

There were pictures everywhere. Carlos’ entire life was splayed upon those walls. And on the wall facing the front door, there was a beautiful portrait of him and Stephanie at their wedding.

I felt even sicker just knowing I missed it. Stephanie was a magnificent bride and Carlos… for the first time in his life, looked mature and dapper and, well, a little nervous too. And now this beautiful woman that he’d married was having his child.

Carlos was having _kids._

How sobering was that?

“Hey, Kendallia. Are you hungry or what? Nervous?” Carlos swung back out of the kitchen, his arm around my waist as he looked at the photo with me. “Beautiful isn’t she? Even prettier in person. In fact, I think she looks way better when she’s not all frilly like that.”

“Sorry, Carlitos. I’m just… feeling my age, I guess.”

“Why? You’re not old.” That was the end of it. Carlos patted me on the shoulder, and then proceeded to drag me into the kitchen. “Stephanie! I got him, I got him!”

There she was, standing at the oven, her baby bump popping her apron forward. She turned and smiled at us, and it was absolutely dazzling. Carlos was right. Even sweating, with her hair yanked up on her head, cooking, she was just beautiful.

“Well, well, well, look at you. You haven’t changed much at all,” she said, moving to hug me. Her hugs weren’t as extreme as Carlos’, which was kind of a relief. “How’s a handsome mug like you still single? I’ve got a cousin that would absolutely love you, you know. She has all the BTR albums.”

“Oh, no, no. I’m not a fan of blind dates.”

“She’s pretty!” Carlos tried, setting the table and swiveling his hips to the music. He still knew all the moves.

I gave a sort of half laugh, feeling more awkward than the situation probably called for. “Ahaha… I don’t know if she’s really my type.”

“Come on, Kendall. You can’t be single forever,” Logan added, following behind Carlos and setting the table correctly, as was his nature.

“You’re single.”

Logan paused. “…Kind of…?”

Carlos stopped in the middle of laying a plate. “Who is it? Who’s the lucky girl?”

“Oh, well, we’re not really… we’re just kind of…… Her name’s Jasmine.”

Jasmine. That’s what her name was.

“Ohhhh? So what’s happening with this _Jasmine_?” Carlos emphasized Jasmine’s name as if it made her appear in the room to make Logan more embarrassed.

“N-nothing really.”

I felt the smile drift back across his face. I was feeling more at home by the second. Logan decided to change the subject.

“Oh, hey, Kendall! Your mom still lives out here, doesn’t she? Does she know you flew out?”

I shook my head. “Nope. I think I’m gonna go surprise her tomorrow.”

“Yeah! Get up in the morning, surprise her, and then we will hit the _town_ tomorrow night!” Carlos exclaimed, then dropped his volume to look worriedly to his wife, “If that’s okay with you, sweetie.”

She laughed. “Carlos. Go have fun. I’ll be fine. I’m only at 19 weeks.”

Carlos patted her belly fondly, and it made my heart ache for some reason. “I feel like you’ve grown so much in just the past few months. I can’t wait for the ultrasound. We’ll get to find out we’re having a boy!” She was pretty large for 19 weeks.

Stephanie rolled her eyes. “It could be a girl, Carlos.”

“Have you thought of names?” Logan asked, and he had some sort of knowing smile on his face that I didn’t understand.

Stephanie finally turned off the music and the television to leave the house in a little bit of a peace for dinner. I helped her gather the French Onion casserole from the oven so she wouldn’t have to bend over and brought it over to the table to serve.

“Not really. I think if we come up with names, we’ll be terrified that this is actually happening.” She chuckled.

“This looks amazing, Steph,” Carlos said, placing a hand on her knee and smiling at her with all the love in his heart. Carlos never did things half-way.

“Thank you, hon.”

We sat down to eat.

I think we all felt it. Something was missing. But we were all pushing it away and carrying on. Logan talked about working at the hospital and how he had just saved a child from certain death. He even got a little choked up when he spoke about her parents coming to him and thanking him genuinely for his help. I was filled with pride for him. He had always been our little rescuer. To think he was really saving lives was incredibly humbling. I spoke about the Wild, but I decided to once again leave out the head injury thing. Logan was good at saving lives, but I knew I wouldn’t be allowed to have any fun at all if he caught any wind that I’d been recently injured.

“Yeah, I’m actually taking a break from the Wild.”

“You are? Why?”

I took a long time to chew my food. “I guess I just… don’t feel right about it right now. Needed something different in my life.” Like not getting my head bashed in by homophobic hockey players.

“Oh, I do have to admit, you’ve sounded pretty down in the past few phone calls,” Logan said, taking a swig of green tea – he had politely refused the soda Carlos offered.

“I have?” I was actually pretty surprised. “Huh. That’s weird.”

“I just figured you missed me,” Logan grinned and pinched my cheek from his seat at the table. “D’awwww.”

I batted his hand away affectionately. “Ha ha.”

“You know, I always thought Kendall would end up the family man before us,” Carlos said after a pause. “He was always parenting us, y’know?”

“I guess it depends on how liberal you think parents should be,” Logan replied. “I worry what he’d let his kids get away with. They’d be genuine though. That’s definitely true.”

“Well, I just know that if my kid is anything like Kendall, I’ll be happy. Actually I’d be happy if he was like any of you guys – but maybe a little more open minded to stunts than you, Logie.”

“I’d prefer if they weren’t. I think it’d save you a lot of money in doctor bills.”

“Hey, we all have plenty of money. I still haven’t spent all my Big Time Rush money. Have you?” He looked at me. I nodded.

“Most of it, I think. I don’t know. I make pretty good money, so I don’t really keep up with it.”

“And of course we’ve got Dr. Logan, here.”

Logan nodded. “I tell you, guys, I honestly never thought we’d be sitting at a table talking about how successful we all are. It’s pretty great, isn’t it?”

I nodded. Yeah. It was good. Kind of. But money didn’t always mean success.

Logan lifted his glass. “To our success.”

“And to hoping James has it too… wherever he is,” I added.

We toasted.

.

My mother owned a humble home just outside of San Diego, but it was a fairly easy drive from Carlos’ place. We had ended up staying the night at his house and actually making a fort in his living room and falling asleep like we were at a sleepover from our youth. Stephanie woke us up the next morning laughing.

“Alright, kids. Thanks for the practice session. Now you three get up so I can start cleaning your mess.”  
It was better than scaring us. Carlos said that was her usual tactic.

We pulled up in the driveway of my mom’s house and I thought it looked different than my memories allowed. I had bought her the house before I’d left for Minnesota, and she had adored it. But back then, I hadn’t really been able to see a home in it. Her personality had definitely shown through, with the pretty flowers and trees, and the whole place just filled my chest with warmth.

I was actually a little nervous. I had talked to my mom almost every night since I had left for Minnesota, but I hadn’t seen her face-to-face. And though seeing my friends age felt strange and sobering, watching my mother age was a terrifying admittance to my mortality. If my mom was getting older… she could die.

God, I’m so morbid sometimes.

Carlos insisted I hide by the garage instead of going to the front door. Carlos and Logan made their trek up to her stoop, and I was left awkwardly by the address sign, a bird feeder, and a potted plant. I heard the door open, and Carlos and Logan say hello. She sounded surprised to see Logan, and so happy to see him too, and it sent chills through me. Chills of guilt.

I was really starting to hate my fucking job. How the hell I had ever walked away from my mother was beyond me, and it left me feeling like my father. And completely nauseous. I had walked away from her just like my father. I still spoke to her, but… God, how the fuck did I ever let myself do that?

“Come here! No seriously! I need you to look at my car.”

“Carlos, I saw your car just the other day when I came for dinner, I don’t see why I need to—“  
And there she was. Right in front of me.

I couldn’t say anything. My mouth went completely dry, and my thoughts weren’t thinking anything coherent except for _mommommommommommommom._

Her face changed, hitched a little bit as the emotions took a moment to register.

“Kendall! Oh my God!” She wailed, throwing her arms around my neck and pulling me into an embrace.

She seemed so much smaller than I remembered – just a little bit more hunched with a few grey hairs, and perfect, beautiful laugh lines on her face. I clung to her, the complete symbol of everything my life had been and come to be. She had been there through it all.

I still can’t figure out why it took me so long to see her. The pain in my chest was worse than any hit I took in hockey or any injury gained from crazy antics. It was strange to only really, really start missing her when I saw her again. I buried my face in her hair.

Smelled like home.

“Hey mom,” I finally said. “How’ve you been?”  



	4. Shut Your Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Future!Fic. Kendall returns to L.A. six years after Big Time Rush disbanded. James has been missing for years. Imagine how things change when James reappears in his life. And he needs help.

**Title:** Shut Your Eyes  
 **Authors:** [](http://goten0040.livejournal.com/profile)[**goten0040**](http://goten0040.livejournal.com/) and [](http://garnetice.livejournal.com/profile)[**garnetice**](http://garnetice.livejournal.com/)  
 **Chapter:** 4  
 **Rating:** M  
 **Ship(s):** Kendall/James, Carlos/Stephanie, maybe more.  
 **Summary:** Future!Fic. Kendall returns to L.A. six years after Big Time Rush disbanded. James has been missing for years. Imagine how things change when James reappears in his life. And he needs help.  
 **Previous Chapters:**[1](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/852.html#cutid1), [2](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1274.html), [3](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1511.html#cutid1)

  
 

\---

  
Being home was like getting stuck in a time warp. I’d always been close with my mom, but the years of her treating me like her little boy were long past.  
  
Or so I’d thought.  
  
We’d spent most of the day catching up like normal people. Talking about family, friends, and I don’t know, our favorite tv shows and shit. I helped her with the gardening, even though I wasn’t really sure how to use any of the tools and trampled three of her prized bulbs.  
  
By the time we both went inside, sweaty and exhausted, it was close to five in the afternoon. When we plopped down in front of the TV, that was apparently the signal for her to begin the interrogation.  
  
“Are you eating enough? You look skinny.”  
  
“I’m eating fine. Promise,” I groaned, because yeah, I’d been waiting for it, but I was going to be thirty in a couple years, for fuck’s sake.   
  
Mothers. They never stop _mothering_.  
  
“You’re certain? Okay, I was just checking,” she held up her hands at my defensive look, “…Are you sure you don’t want me to any of your laundry?”

“I just got here. I don’t have any laundry.”

“Right. Silly me,” my mom cocked her head to the side, “Honey, is that a _scar_ on your forehead? How’d that happen?”

I’d told mom the same bull I’d given Logan and Carlos about taking a leave of absence because my head hadn’t been in the game, but I hadn’t bothered mentioning the break was medically enforced.  
  
Because, in all honesty, _it wasn’t_. Stitches and a minor concussion barely gave me the excuse to sit out two games, much less a whole season. Hockey was a brutal sport; injuries were expected collateral damage.  
  
But I wasn’t ready to admit that the taunting of some asshole _nobody_ had gotten through to me. It would be like giving up a piece of myself. I was supposed to be confident, unshakable.  
  
Not terrified that the NHL would identify me as one of the first openly gay American ice hockey players in the whole of history.  
  
Chances were, the guy who’d given me the scar was just banking on the fact that I used to wear tight pants and dance around on stage singing harmonies. Players always hoped questioning the boy bander’s sexuality would get him all riled up. He probably didn’t actually _know_ anything at all. It wasn’t like I went around airing my business all over the locker room, and my relationships over the past few years had been short, sweet, and so far, discrete.  
  
And it certainly wasn’t the first time I’d been called a faggot either, or even the _worst_ name that had ever been tossed my way.  
  
Only, somehow he’d chosen the apropos moment to drive the insult home.  
  
I didn’t know why or how it worked under my mostly impenetrable armor.I’d never been completely _comfortable_ with my sexuality, but I was well enough adjusted to it at that point that it should’ve taken more than an idle barb to knock me down. Yet it had, and I had a scar on my hairline to serve as a constant reminder, a physical injury to spell out my sudden, massive identity crisis to the whole wide world.  
  
So far, I’d been pretending to myself that I was just worried word would get out that I wasn’t a fan of pussy and that the homophobic jerks who littered the ice might take it out on my team’s chances for the Stanley Cup. But I knew there was more to it. Fear and shame and a hole in my heart.  
  
Hell, maybe I was just exhausted from bearing the weight of it all alone.  
  
“Hockey. Some jerk nearly bashed my head into the ice,” I explained, but I didn’t elaborate that he hadn’t done it in an attempt to steal the puck. Some things my mother never needed to know.  
  
“Did you hit him in the face with your stick…thingy?” my mom asked, waving her hand vaguely in the air.  
  
“I wanted to?”  
  
“Good boy,” my mom patted my arm. She could be seriously vindictive and scary, sometimes, “So. Any girls in your life?”  
  
“Nope. Not a one,” I replied. She asked me that nearly every day over the phone. My answer was always the same. I think she was aiming for grandkids, and I didn’t have a clue how to tell her that wasn’t happening.  
  
It wasn’t that I didn’t think my mom wouldn’t accept me for who I was. We’d gone through a phase when BTR first started off where she suspected I wasn’t exactly straight as an arrow, and she’d been totally open and accepting. I guess it was more that I wasn’t ready to tell her. I wasn’t ready to tell, well, _anyone_ , obviously.  
  
“You’re not getting any younger, sweetheart.”  
  
I kind of wanted to make a snarky comment that sperm doesn’t get any less potent with age, but c’mon. We might’ve been close, but she was my _mom_. Instead I shrugged and said, “I’ll let you know when I find the right person.”  
  
“You do that,” she advised, her smile turning sunny, “I think I’ll make chicken tonight. What do you think?”  
  
“I’m supposed to go out with Carlos and Logan…”  
  
“They’re invited too,” my mom kept up the smile, but her tone was one that brooked no argument, “We’re going to have a nice family meal. It’s been _years_.”  
  
“Oh, uh…great,” I tried my best to sound as enthusiastic as possible. Seriously, scary. _Seriously_.

\----   


  
We did have a nice family meal.  
  
Katie even came. It was fucking weird, man. When she showed up at the door, I had no idea who I was looking at. Her whole body was outlined by the bright California sunlight, and she could have been a wandering salesman; but the classy outfit and raised eyebrows behind her expensive, brand name shades were kind of a tip off.  
  
“Wow,” I breathed, looking her up and down, and wondering if the super short hemline on her dress was really allowed at her agency, “Wow. Hi, not-so-little sister.”

Katie lifted her sunglasses, eyes flicking analytically over me and she said, bluntly, “You’ve let yourself go.”

"…you’ve gotten taller, but I see growing up hasn’t modified your personality. That’s good. I was worried.”  
  
She grinned and, without warning, launched herself at me, hugging me tight. I returned it, laughing. Katie was just one more in a long list of countless things I missed more than life itself.  
  
Soon enough, mom joined in on the action, bear hugging us both so hard I heard at least one of our spines crack.

Carlos mentioned that I used to parent all my friends. It never felt like a responsibility; being in charge all the time. But I wondered if what I’d been feeling the last few years was some kind of warped empty nest syndrome. I wondered if it was what my mom felt all the time, now that Katie and I were out of the house.

Jesus, this entire vacation was just going to be one gi-fucking-gantic guilt trip, I knew it.

It was part of the reason I’d avoided coming back to California for so long. I’d procrastinated for so long that I’d begun to feel horrible about it, which made me put it off for even longer. I’d wanted to _avoid_ feeling like I’d kicked a litter full of puppies.

But I was a good son. I straightened up and took my medicine, even though my medicine mostly consisted of listening to how well Katie was doing at her new agency. She’d been interning at one through most of her college years at UCLA, and (predictably) had been marked as one of the town’s rising stars. I already knew most of the story; I didn’t talk to my baby sister as much as my mother, but we’d stayed in pretty steady contact.  
  
Enough that she’d confided in me all the things she couldn’t tell our mother. For instance, I was pretty sure mom had no idea that she was dating some big shot producer, a man two years older than me.

We steered clear of that topic over dinner. I noticed the one other subject conspicuously avoided all through the meal was James.  
  
Worst part was, I had no idea whether to feel annoyed or _relieved_.

Carlos called halfway through to inform me that I had to be ready for our night on the town. When I told him I was eating, his exact words were, “We missed your mom’s chicken?”

I frowned at the phone, “…It’s not dinosaur shaped.”

Logan’s voice crackled into the receiver, “Shut up, asshat. We’ll be there in five.”

I was obviously on speaker phone. Carlos added, “And you’d _better_ have a doggie bag full of scrumptiousness.”

“Don’t you have a wife to cook for you now?” I demanded, but Carlos had already hung up.

My mother smiled serenely and said she’d heat a few plates up for “the boys”.

“You do that,” I sighed.

\---

Sure enough, Logan and Carlos crowded through my door less than ten minutes later, falling all over themselves to tell my mom how pretty she was looking this evening. I want to say she was impervious to their flattery, but she folded like a house of cards.  
  
Katie wasn’t nearly so susceptible, even when Logan whistled, “Whoa, who’s the looker?”  
  
He maybe really hadn’t known it was my little sister, because when Katie rolled her eyes and told him to shut his face, little Logan turned really, really green. I knew that short skirt was a bad idea.  
  
I also knew if I tried to give her some big brotherly advice, she’d punch me in the mouth.  
  
By the time we all made it out to Carlos’s car, both of my friends’ stomachs were practically bulging from how much they’d eaten.

“Thanks, Mama Knight,” they chorused, looking absolutely delighted with themselves.  
  
I guess it was understandable. We’d all been raised on my mom’s cooking.

My mom clucked her tongue and engulfed us each in big hugs, finally burying her head in my neck and warning, “I better see you back here before you ship off to Minnesota again.”

"Of course,” I agreed, turning to hug Katie.

“Don’t be a stranger,” Katie kissed my cheek. Then she turned to Logan, wiggling her fingers and blowing him a big, fat kiss.

He looked kind of like he wanted to throw up in the patch of wildflowers near the door.

“You’re sadistic, baby sister.”

Katie simply smirked.

I got shotgun in Carlos’s black, four door sedan, on account of having way longer legs than Logan. Once we’d all piled inside, I turned to Carlos and demanded, “Okay, what’s with the baseball hat?”

“I’m in disguise,” Carlos beamed.

“Very incognito, isn’t it?” I could just hear it when Logan rolled his eyes.

“Shush,” Carlos said fondly, “Seriously, hush your lips. I’m getting _a call_.”

“Well that’s impossible. We’re his only friends,” Logan muttered from the back seat.

“Actually, Logan-“ I watched Carlos’s lips twist, and he said, “Nah. Never mind. I’ll let it be a surprise.”

And a surprise it was when we pulled into a parking garage downtown and found a familiar, pretty girl wearing a very sparkly dress waiting with crossed arms near the entrance.

“Camille! You’re, you’re-“ I searched for words, trying to figure out what to say to a girl I hadn’t seen or spoken to in years, and had never been all that close with in the first place. Logan was watching her in barely disguised awe, and unlike when he was eyeing up my little sister, he was able to give her a good long onceover without turning a radioactive shade of sickly green.  
  
He must not have been _too_ dedicated to his pretty little redhead back home.

She cocked an eyebrow and replied, “Still a struggling actress and nearly 30? I know.”

“You are not struggling,” Logan jumped in, giving her an embrace that lasted for a little longer than was usually considered socially acceptable, “You’re on a nationally syndicated drama that’s been running for four seasons. It’s a far cry from the Palmwoods, Cam.”

“ _Teen drama_ ,” she corrected, smiling, “Good to know you watch.”  
  
Logan’s cheeks reddened a little as she continued, “They’re thinking about cancelling the show, actually.”  
  
Logan, Carlos, and I murmured apologies, but she laughed.  
  
“ Ugh, I hope they do. I’m sick of playing an eternal high-schooler. I want some movie parts, something meaty. Carlos, get on that for me, would you?” she asked in a honeyed voice, snapping her fingers in his direction over Logan’s shoulder. That hug was still going on, man. I was positive Logan wasn’t ever planning on letting go. 

“Sure,” Carlos replied good-naturedly, “I’ve got more connections than I know what to do with.”

“Aren’t we modest? I was joking, you know,” Camille grinned.

“I wasn’t,” he beamed, “What are friends for if not to launch each other from obscurity?”

“Wait, hey- I’m not exactly obscure-“ Logan cut Camille off by finally letting go, only to pull her underneath his arm.

“So, I wasn’t expecting you to be here tonight,” he began, casting me a meaningful look, “Is Jo coming?”

I winced. Everyone knew that things with me and Jo had gone horribly awry all those years ago, but not even my best friends knew the real reason. Which, at this point, shouldn’t have been that shocking. I’d obviously become a master of deception.

It wasn’t exactly something I was proud of.

Jo and I still talked, to this day, occasionally, but the two of us had this strange relationship. See, I’d never been able to pin down when exactly I decided that boys were a more fascinating prospect than girls, but the one thing I absolutely knew was that I’d still been together with Jo when I did it.  
  
And I didn’t tell her.  
  
Instead, I betrayed her, in the worst possible way. I openly admit it; I shouldn’t get a free pass just because I’d decided to cheat on my girlfriend with somebody who was the same sex.  
  
The night it happened was literally months after I’d first started screwing around. With Jo, I’d barely managed to scrape by second base. I can still clearly remember the accusation in her eyes when she discovered me sliding all the way home with a complete stranger.  
  
Ever since, our relationship had become this weird amalgam. She was my confidante, but at the same time we both sort of skirted around the fact that I’d fucked her over, big time. I was never sure if what we were could actually be classified as friends.  
  
“I think she’s at a movie premiere tonight,” Camille grinned at me, “She’s dating some super hot actor now. I think she’s got a thing for guys who show up in the pages of Tiger Beat.”  
  
I shifted and tried my best not to look too uncomfortable.  
  
I failed. _Terribly._  
  
“Too bad,” Logan replied in this voice that was too knowing, too wise. I’d forgotten how easy he found it to read people, like every facial tick and flicker of an eyelash was some kind of tell. Lucky me, he wasn’t an expert, or I’d have no secrets left at all.

“Guys, guys, c’mon!” Carlos beckoned us out into the night, leading the way to some unknown location. He turned to me, hands stuffed in his jeans, “I was going to plan you this, like, epic party for tonight, but Logan’s a total buzz kill. I had to bargain. So when you guys leave, be prepared for a fucking ridiculous sendoff.”

“What have you got against parties, Logie?” I knocked my shoulder against his.  
  
Logan scowled, “ Nothing. I just figured we might want to get acclimated to the LA scene again before breaking out the funnel.”  
  
“No better way to get re-acclimated than drinking like a fratboy, I say,” Camille laughed, nudging him in the stomach so that he was squished between the two of us.  
  
Annoyed, Logan began, “Do you know what kind of damaging effects that much liquor can have on your- no, who am I kidding? I’m not that kind of doctor. I plan on getting smashed. Just, y’know. With close friends only.”  
  
“You don’t want strangers seeing what a lightweight you’ve gotten to be,” Camille teased, and I could tell she hit that nail right on the head. Logan ducked his head and muttered something nasty.  
  
“Don’t worry,” Camille cheered, “We’ll build your tolerance right back up. By the time you go back to Florida, you’ll be able to drink Paris Hilton under the table. Or at least me. Pssh, wait. _That_ won’t happen.”

“Or,” Carlos interjected slyly, “You could just not go back.”

I exchanged a glance with Logan. Yeah, neither of us were touching that one with a ten foot pole.    
  
Even though the last wisps of sunlight had faded a few hours ago, Hollywood remained bright and well-lit. The day I’d caught my flight from Minnesota, I’d driven along slick wet pavement, rain pounding hard on my windshield. Through the water blurring down my windows, I could just barely make out the stoops lined with Jack-O-Lanterns, piles of fiery fallen leaves building up in drainage ditches and gutters. In California, the sidewalks were still sun bleached and- well, not pristine. Hollywood isn’t the cleanest of cities. But the only indication I even had that Halloween was in the air were a small group of girls dressed like the sluttiest possible versions of Disney Princesses, already three sheets to the wind and on their way to a costume party.

If there was one thing you could always count on in Southern California, it was that there would never be a shortage of parties.

The first bar we hit, we immediately ordered up a round of drinks.

“To friendship,” Logan announced gravely, holding up a double shot of tequila.

“Yeah, fuck that,” Carlos interrupted, lips quirking, “To drinking like we’re nineteen again!”

“Amen,” Camille agreed, “I plan on getting _wasted_.”

“Think you made that pretty obvious,” I commented, but I was in a good mood. It had been a long time since I’d really loosened up. Hockey players are big fans of a good soiree; one might even call them _career_ drinkers. But getting smashed was a lot less fun when you had no friends and couldn’t be caught out hitting on the cute guy on the dance floor.

We followed that round with another…uh, five? I kind of lost count. Anyway, at first Carlos did his civic duty, escorting us around to all the hotspots you could only get into if you made reservations six months in advance or knew a famous actor. You know, the kind where bottles in every shade of neon lined frosted glass shelves, where the ratio of girls to guys was always at least three to one. Usually there was some kind of theme, like, I don’t fucking know, Anchors Away or George of the Jungle or Aladdin’s cave. But the general modus operandi was always the same; the sickest DJs, lots of exposed flesh, and waiters standing by to keep the bottles of Cristal and Dom flowing.    
  
Carlos really enjoyed _being_ the famous actor that got us in the door, for a while.    
  
‘Course, thing is, the three of us were weaned on Natty Ice and PBR, keggers and beer pong. Living the high life is good, great, even, but we were trying to relieve the good old days, back before we’d gotten famous. We wanted dark, seedy bars and a noticeable absence of stilettos.    
  
Okay, maybe I was the only one who gave a damn about the last bit.    
  
Slowly our merry troop of friends relocated from the hipster lounges to the darker underbelly of downtown, tequila burning slow and warm in our bellies. Spilling out onto the streets, we were loud, we were rowdy, and fuck if we weren’t all good and drunk.    
  
As we made our way to the next place, Camille and I got talking.    
  
“You know,” I proselytized, feeling friendly towards the whole wide world, “We should- stop and smell the roses. Get to _know_ someone.”

“Um, the kind of people you meet in bars aren’t usually the kind of people you want to…uh, get to know. Unless it’s in the biblical sense,” Camille grinned, slinging an arm around my shoulders.  
  
“Really? I would’ve guessed it was the opposite. You wouldn’t rather wait to do the nasty until _after_ you find out if they have scabies?”

“Aw,” Camille choked out, “Aw, aw. C’mon, Kendall. I was really hoping to get laid by a cute stranger with a great butt, and now it’s _ruined_. Why would you do that? I don’t destroy _your_ sex fantasies, now do I?”

I laughed, ignoring the look Logan was throwing me. He obviously disapproved hard of my discussing _sex_ with his ex-girlfriend. Whatever.I wound my hand around her waist and started up a rousing chorus of some Top Forties shitty song that she jumped right in on, just to see him glare some more. We sounded horrible.

“You know, Kendall,” Camille leaned in close, “If you’re not into random hookups, I have some cute friends, and you’re totally their type.”

“I doubt they’re mine,” I answered, “But thanks.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m not,” I smirked.

And I was telling the truth. I decided I was _over_ worrying about who might find out what tonight. Just for this evening, I was going to party like a rockstar, like it was ten years ago and I didn’t have a care in the world.   
  
But first, God, I had to piss.  
  
[Chapter Five](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1996.html#cutid1)


	5. Shut Your Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Future!Fic. Kendall returns to L.A. six years after Big Time Rush disbanded. James has been missing for years. Imagine how things change when James reappears in his life. And he needs help.

**Title:** Shut Your Eyes  
 **Authors:** [](http://goten0040.livejournal.com/profile)[**goten0040**](http://goten0040.livejournal.com/) and [](http://garnetice.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://garnetice.livejournal.com/)**garnetice**  
 **Chapter:** 5  
 **Rating:** M  
 **Ship(s):** Kendall/James, Carlos/Stephanie, maybe more.  
 **Summary:** Future!Fic. Kendall returns to L.A. six years after Big Time Rush disbanded. James has been missing for years. Imagine how things change when James reappears in his life. And he needs help.

Chapter Five

I broke away from the group in search of a bathroom, stepping in through a heavy metal door into a club called _Fate_. The place looked to be an old jazz hall from way back when, but it seemed that, over the years, the club had deteriorated into a dingy bar. Cracks snaked up the wall from a wobbly foundation, and caused the few pictures to reside crooked in their places. The floor was a stained concrete that had worn just a little rough, and I couldn’t help but feel like the ceiling was going to fall in on me at any moment. As I moved forward into the main stretch of the club, I could make out a bar, lit dimly by orange light, and through a plume of cigarette smoke, tables set up around a small, round stage, that definitely had seen better days. It was lit up with a single fluorescent spotlight, making it stand out in an almost heavenly fashion, and they seemed to be setting up for a performance.

I was more interested in making my way down the hall, however, and getting rid of the many shots of alcohol I had consumed that evening. Besides, the others were probably lingering outside, waiting for me, and it wasn’t exactly the safest part of town. By the way the customers were staring at me, it was pretty obvious I wasn’t dressed for the place. At least not as it was. I imagined the old building still had a little romance in its walls somewhere, but a sport coat and tie weren’t necessarily the fashion choice of the pierced, skinny people that hung over the wooden, marked up tables, with a sense of apathy that was so strong it chilled me just to look at them.

I dragged myself into the dirty bathroom, shutting the door and locking it behind me. The place had to be crawling with germs. The tiles were chipped and dirty, and the single fluorescent light that hung over the mirror flickered from time to time, dimming the room substantially and making it hard to see. Still, I hadn’t always been under bathroom conditions of the rich and famous, so I shrugged it off and stepped up to the urinal.  
There was a used needle on the floor right next to it. I stared at it for quite some time. We really were in the underbelly of Los Angeles. Maybe we’d gone a bit too far.  
I looked in the streaked mirror while I washed my hands. The lighting cast dark shadows on my face, under my cheekbones and around my eyes. I felt like I was looking into my own skull. And the white scar was illuminated right at my hairline, a stark reminder of everything that had happened, and almost telling me that the shit wasn’t done hitting the fan just yet. I stood there for a long time, looking at myself, not quite wanting to go back out onto the streets yet. As the alcohol dissipated in my gut, the warmth went with it, and in its place came that worried feeling that I’d been dealing with since my plane landed – or really, even before then. I felt suddenly alienated from my group. Carlos was married and having kids. Logan was caught up in his career, and starting to get completely caught up in Camille again. Katie had her business and her boyfriend, and Mom was still taking care of all of us even after all these years.

Where did that leave me?

I’d been the leader for so long, raising my sword and charging into danger like some Knight in shining armor, but now, I didn’t have anything to lead. My friends had moved on with their lives, and I thought I had too. Then, it just so happened that I really hadn’t at all. I’d just been going through the motions. I brushed the scar with my fingers, and if the mirror hadn’t been so disgusting looking, I probably would have leaned against the cool glass.

“Hell.” I really need to stop fucking up my own life.

But even after all the drinks and the laughter and the warm feelings of home, I just didn’t feel right. James was missing from our activities, our shenanigans. And there seemed to be a growing hole in my life where he might have been. I guess I just expected everything to just fall into place, like it did for me so often, and when it didn’t… I really didn’t know how to cope with it.

I finally made my way out, feeling more down on myself than when I went in, keeping my head down and my hands in my pockets to subtly move away from the dangerous looking crowd around the stage.  
That was when I heard it. The small strike of the guitar, and the voice pouring out over the mic.

_“When you were here before,_  
Couldn't look you in the eye.  
You're just like an angel,  
Your skin makes me cry. 

_You float like a feather,_  
In a beautiful world.  
I wish I was special.  
You're so fuckin' special…” 

That voice.

_“But I'm a creep._  
I'm a weirdo.  
What the hell am I doin' here?  
I don't belong here.” 

I knew that voice. I whipped around so quickly I was certain my neck would snap. The little bit of alcohol left in my system whirled me somewhat into the concrete wall and I leaned against it for support, watching, listening. On the stage, a young-looking, familiar man leaned over a guitar, his dark hair spilling over his face, large sunglasses masking the rest of him from the world. His arms were covered in ink, tattoos of all different things from the cap of his worn, holey t-shirt, to his bracelet-clad wrists. His guitar was worn away from where the hand had stroked it many times, the wood much brighter under the stage lights.

But next to him…

Oh, God.

_“I don't care if it hurts,_  
I wanna have control.  
I want a perfect body .  
I want a perfect soul.” 

He was lit up like an angel under that light, his hands gently gripping the microphone in front of his lips. He was wearing a black crew-neck shirt which had grayed with age, and his fingernails were chewed away. His ears were pierced, multiple-times in fact, and his sandy brown hair was a frizzled mess, yanked back behind him, close to his neck. And he was singing. Good God, he was singing like every word was stabbing him in the heart, and I knew it was because it was.

Because James Diamond was singing it.

_“I want you to notice_  
when I'm not around.  
You're so fuckin' special.  
I wish I was special.” 

James.

I felt my head spin again, and it wasn’t because of the alcohol. I was paralyzed in my place, watching James wail into the microphone, and the only thought I could get to go through my head was that God, James was so fucking skinny, and why was he so fucking skinny? I didn’t care that the others were probably starting to get worried that I’d had my head bashed in. I didn’t care that some of the patrons of the club were still glowering at me like I didn’t belong there, when they should have been looking at James. Because fuck, James didn’t belong there either. With the dramatic, almost raspy lilt to his voice, he should have been singing in front of screaming fans, not apathetic bastards with nothing better to do than to just watch some guy pour his heart out on stage.

Another thought went through my head. He was dirty. He matched the club wall, smudges of dust and grime all over him.

_“But I'm a creep._  
I'm a weirdo.  
What the hell am I doin' here?  
I don't belong here, ohhhh, ohhhh…” 

I wanted to cry, or yell, or interrupt the whole thing or… or something. But I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t get myself to move from my spot against the wall, just staring, staring, staring, at someone who had been missing from my life for so long. And there he was, right there in front of me, just lunged right back into my head and my heart like he’d never been missing in the first place. And it sent striking, slicing pains through me, just to watch him, withered, hunched over the mic like it was the only thing keeping him standing. And Guitar Dude was right there next to him, accompanying him, looking just as bad off.

_“Whatever makes you happy,_  
Whatever you want.  
You're so fuckin' special.  
I wish I was special.” 

Shit. I was crying. I had tears running down my cheeks like they’d never stop. I felt like he was singing to me, and I really wasn’t that fucking special. I couldn’t even move any closer to the stage. I just fucking stood there and watched, like he would see me beyond that ridiculously bright spotlight, like he would turn and wouldn’t look so skinny and dirty and pathetic anymore. Like the lyrics to the song weren’t exactly about how he had gone unnoticed and had felt so un-special. Like I wasn’t absolutely terrified at that idea. It just wasn’t fair. Not in any sense. It wasn’t fair at all.

_“But I'm a creep._  
I'm a weirdo.  
What the hell am I doin' here?  
I don't belong here…

I don't belong here…”

I bowed my head. I wanted to convince myself that this dirty, stray of a person couldn’t possibly be James, that I was just missing him too much. But I couldn’t deny that voice if I tried, and those heavily lashed eyes, and Jesus, his white teeth. He’d never had a problem keeping perfectly white teeth, even when the rest of him didn’t look so pure anymore.

“Thank you,” he said into the mic, even though there wasn’t just a whole lot of applause. And then he made his way off stage.

I panicked. I couldn’t let him just walk out of my life again, could I? Did he really walk out before, or was that me? Either way, I couldn’t let him leave without finding out. There were so many questions I wanted to ask, so many things I never got to say, and if he left then, I was afraid I’d never see him again ever. The club was called Fate wasn’t it? It had to be some sort of fucking sign. It just had to.

“James!” I felt it, raw in my throat, expel from my lips, over that seething mass of people, to him at the back exit door. He was talking to the bartender, but he looked up wildly, like a caged animal. I started to push my way through the crowd.

Unfortunately, a loud as hell punk band had taken the stage and was blasting through the walls with music, and the apathetic crowd turned into a raging mob, and I was shoving through them and getting knocked around more than I usually did at a hockey game. I tried my hardest to keep James in my view, but time and time again, he slipped out and I kept feeling the cold sting of fear in my gut that he’d be gone when I got through the masses. The music rang in my ears, and I winced as I was shoved up against a table, it jutting straight into my ribs. Finally, I emerged on the other side of the wave, sweaty and a bit strung out.

Actually, I felt a little more like I was going to vomit, but I was pretty sure that was either the alcohol or the nerves twisting in my gut.

“James! James?” I called out, and I had lost sight of him in the chaos. I had to look a bit rapidly around the bar.

He was shaking hands with the bartender. He’d obviously been paid for his performance. He kept his head down; taking his money and shouldering the small, ripped up satchel and heading for the door.

“James! James, wait!”

Oh, God. If he had walked out the back door of that club, I honestly don’t know what I would have done with myself. The ache that passed through me when I realized that he might not hear me was devastating.  
I managed to force myself forward, and I stumbled a little, shoving him into the wall on accident. He was even skinnier than he looked. I could feel it beneath my palms as we toppled over to the floor. Guitar Dude turned around to survey the problem, looking over his sunglasses in confusion.

“Dude! What’s your fucking problem-“ James started, but the sentence died in his throat as soon as he looked at me. He blanched. “…Who the fuck are you?”

He had to be pretending. He just had to be.

“James, it’s me! How do you not—“

“Kendall Knight? No way,” Guitar Dude said, looking almost as shocked as James, though not nearly as sick to his stomach.

“Fuck, Joseph, did you have to do that?”

First, I thought, “Who’s Joseph?” And then I realized that Guitar Dude probably had a name and it was, in this situation, more than likely Joseph.

“Dude, he’s your best friend! Aren’t you happy to see him?”

I looked at James, and I couldn’t say a word. The look on his face plainly said “No. I don’t want to see him. I never want to see him.”

I felt guilty. That’s an understatement.

“James…” I couldn’t stop saying his name, regardless, because, fuck, he was right in front of me! I was overwhelmed.

James cast his eyes away, and they looked glassy and so not like his. “Kendall… what the hell are you doing here?”

I felt like I’d been slapped in the face. “Who cares, James?! Where the fuck have you been?!”

James wouldn’t look me in the eye, and the more I stared, the more furious I became. The music had died to silence as the next band was making their way to the stage, though the idle chatter was still a roar in my ears.

“James,” I demanded. “James, look at me.”

He did. Those hazel eyes shifted to one of the darkest shades of blue, and I was left gaping at him with my heart hurting.

“What happened to you?” I found myself asking, my voice a hushed whisper.

Before he could answer, I heard over the crowd. “Kendall?! Kendall! Where are you?!”

They’d finally come looking for me. A selfish part of my mind wanted them not to find me. I had just found James again and he hadn’t said much at all, and I suppose, in a way, I needed a moment with him to help me realize that it wasn’t my fault that he left.

I didn’t know if I’d ever get that moment.

“Kendall!” Logan was yanking me up off the floor and whirling me around to look me in the face and rapidly ask me questions without giving me time to answer. “Are you alright? What are you doing on the floor? Did you get hurt? Why didn’t you come out and get us? We’ve been out there almost half an hour!”

I stared at him blankly. Ever sense my head was bashed in, I hadn’t really been able to take in that much so quickly. It left me a little winded and confused. “W-what?”

Logan looked briefly annoyed and worried, like my mom when I missed curfew. “Kendall, what kept you?”  
I felt James’ name on my tongue, but I couldn’t seem to open my mouth and say it. Something kept my lips clamped shut. I guess some wildly childish part of me wanted them to notice him, to realize it was him, to give me proof that I wasn’t dreaming or just really fucking drunk. I wanted them to see James, now getting up off the floor and dusting himself off uncomfortably.

Logan followed my gaze. I took that opportunity to look to Camille and Carlos, who were just a hair behind Logan, staring directly at James. Camille’s eyes were starting to water, but she didn’t look happy. She looked terrified. Carlos looked beyond apprehensive. I knew that he’d probably seen a lot of young men that looked like James, and time and time again, had been wrong. I couldn’t imagine how much that would hurt. I suppose he just didn’t want to get his hopes up.

Logan went pale, his dark eyes looking almost black in the light, it casting shadows on his face that showed wrinkles starting to etch into his skin.

“…James?” Carlos finally asked timidly. He looked like a kicked puppy dog, and it made me feel sick all over again.

I finally looked at James again, my heart pounding against my ribs. I was begging and pleading with whatever god there was that this would be James. And yet, another half of me wanted him not to be, because this James… he wasn’t healthy. He was just so thin and so frail looking and so lost and just not James.

“…Hey… Carlos,” he finally murmured, his voice already raw with un-cried tears. He looked ashamed of himself.

“Oh… my… God! James!” And then Carlos was a bundle of energy, launching himself at the boy and wrapping his arms around his neck. “James! You’re here! You’re alive!”

He hadn’t been around Carlos in years. And though Logan and I seemed to just pick right up where we left off, James didn’t seem to know what to do with him anymore. He awkwardly stumbled backwards and patted Carlos on the back, his lips drawn into a deep frown. “…Yeah. I am.”

“Woah, it’s a total Big Time Rush reunion,” Guitar Dude – I mean Joseph – said, and I noticed he looked pretty gaunt too. “Crazy. S’up Camille, Carlos, Logan.”

He was acting like we had seen him yesterday. Then again, Guitar Dude was never all the way… there, per se. He seemed even more off than before. When he waved, I caught sight of lines within his tattoos – red and white lines that didn’t belong there.

Logan had finally managed to wrap his head around James standing in front of us. “James? Really? You’re James?”

Something in Logan’s eyes scared me. He knew something. It was that same twinkle of knowing that he had when we had talked to Stephanie, except so much more grave. I felt my throat close momentarily.

“Yeah. I’m James,” he said.

“Well, dude. Let’s get some drinks and catch up!” Joseph suggested with a happy drawl.

“Yeah, with what?” James snapped at him in return.

“We just made a hundred bucks,” he said, but his voice had withered away. They had obviously made some silent agreement about what to do with that money.

“Fuck that!” Carlos exclaimed. “I’ll buy it for all of us! Oh my God!” He turned to me and threw his arms around my waist, crushing his face into my chest. He was crying. “Kendall! You found James! I’m so happy that you found James.”

James shuffled on his spot. Camille had turned away, and she was wiping away mascara tinted tears. Logan was still staring. Carlos was happy I’d found James.

And yet suddenly…

I wasn’t so sure I was.  



	6. Shut Your Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Future!Fic. Kendall returns to L.A. six years after Big Time Rush disbanded. James has been missing for years. Imagine how things change when James reappears in his life. And he needs help.

**Title:** Shut Your Eyes  
 **Authors:** [](http://goten0040.livejournal.com/profile)[**goten0040**](http://goten0040.livejournal.com/) and [](http://garnetice.livejournal.com/profile)[**garnetice**](http://garnetice.livejournal.com/)  
 **Chapter:** 6  
 **Rating:** M  
 **Ship(s):** Kendall/James, Carlos/Stephanie, maybe more.  
 **Summary:** Future!Fic. Kendall returns to L.A. six years after Big Time Rush disbanded. James has been missing for years. Imagine how things change when James reappears in his life. And he needs help.  
 **Previous Chapters:**[1](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/852.html#cutid1), [2](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1274.html), [3](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1511.html#cutid1), [4](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1554.html#cutid1), [5](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1996.html#cutid1)  
  
I didn’t know what to make of it. James, being back. Like he’d never left. Like he’d been gone a million years.   
  
Back before we’d all gone our separate ways, James had that walk, the half-swagger, half-loping grace that people only seemed to master when they had confidence to spare. Don’t get me wrong. It wasn’t like Carlos or Logan or I had self-esteem issues.   
  
Okay, maybe Logan had a few.   
  
But James- he was almost hyper-aware of his body. He knew what every tilt of his head or twitch of his lips or cocked hip could do to a person. He never even had a second of adolescent angst about his body image. At least, not a second that didn’t revolve around a bad haircut or spray tan, outside factors that were extraneous to what he already was.   
  
Almost like he’d been thrown straight into the fray already built like a young god. Like he’d been perfect his whole life.   
  
You know what I’m talking about. Some people just have that cool-kid-vibe, that ready-to-inherit-the-earth attitude, as if they’ve known they deserve the world from the moment they took their first breath.   
  
I don’t mean that James never had neuroses, because man, he did. Especially after we all flew out to California, where the pressure had broken lesser men. But when you caught him off guard, without his Cuda manspray and his hair product and mirrors and all the trappings of Hollywood, he just had poise and self-assurance to spare. He knew he was gorgeous. He knew he was strong. And he knew he was going to make it.   
  
Nowhere had that been more evident than in the way he walked.   
  
Now it was this nagging reminder that something was seriously wrong.   
  
Tall and straight and a little distant as he followed Carlos obediently down the boulevard to the next bar, while he could feel our eyes on him. Caving in on himself whenever he thought no one was looking. James was a parody of his old self.  
  
I tried to throw a worried look in Logan’s direction, but he was studiously avoiding my gaze. Camille was tucked under his arm, into his side, telling silly stories about what had happened on the set of her drama. I could tell that Logan knew something was up, but I didn’t have a chance to ask. Camille and Carlos seemed genuinely happy, but at the same time, they were acting off. It felt like we were all trying to sing harmonies for the same song, but kept joining in on the wrong key. So what came out instead was this disjointed conversation, where each of us kept piping in at the awkwardest possible time, trying to keep up the façade as shiny, happy friends who’d finally found each other again.   
  
And I didn’t know if they were all seeing the same things as me; the way the bones of James’s spine poked from beneath his thin, worn shirt or the bags underneath his eyes or the way his walk was all wrong. How he stuck unnaturally close to Guitar Dude, who was the only person that didn’t seem to have any problem acting natural.   
  
Everyone else could have just been cued in to the fact that finding someone who’d dropped off the grid for years was- well, _awkward_.   
  
Fuck me, a few years ago, I would’ve been able to read Carlos’s every thought just by the way he angled his body. I would have been able to interpret Logan’s rigid posture, seen it as more than just a vague, screaming alarm.  
  
I was so done with this. I didn’t know when or how I’d stopped fitting in with the only people I’d ever cared about, and I didn’t know how to make us all click again on more than a superficial level.  
  
So, superficiality it was. I tried to remember who I’d been seven years ago, the person I’d existed as before I’d decided hockey was more important than friendship. Cocky, aggressive, tactless. Genuine. Sure that there wasn’t a single risk or challenge I couldn’t face.  
  
It had been so easy to be brave when I hadn’t thought there was anything to lose. It had been so damn easy; right up until I realized I had nothing left.  
  
I ignored the fact that we were all out of step and said, “So, wow, James. That place was a shithole.”  
  
Carlos snorted, but caught himself at the last second, turning it into a hacking cough. Logan flat out glared at me, because apparently in Florida, social niceties were something carefully observed. Camille simply raised her eyebrows, the story she’d been telling about the peeping tom camera man trailing off.  
  
James did not look amused.  
  
Except that was a lie, because for one fleeting instant, I saw his eyebrow arch self-deprecatingly before his whole face shuttered closed, dark. Before he created a mask that hid the part of himself that could still laugh at the ludicrous idea of James-fucking-Diamond living like a street urchin, that covered the deep sense of shame running right on his laughter’s heels. He tucked it all behind a stony façade, refusing to even acknowledge that I’d said anything at all.  
  
Yeah. I wasn’t so good at being the old me. The old me wouldn’t have let that stand.  
  
“Uh, guys. We’re here,” Carlos tapped his fingers against the sandstone wall of his newest choice in bars, a place without a single window or distinguishing mark. Inside, it was cavernous, a dance club pounding out the latest beats, a bank vault door against the far wall as decoration. Everything was soundproofed; wood paneling in rich mahogany, long, white, draped silks. The place was some exaggerated dream of a prohibition hideout, right down to the unmarked bottles of moonshine at the bar.  
  
James and Guitar Dude looked markedly out of place.  
  
Carlos didn’t care. He was all about getting the party started, never mind that we’d been traipsing around greater Los Angeles for the better part of five hours and the party was long past begun. We had a whole new set of things to celebrate. He ordered us up whole bottles of moonshine, grain liquor that would burn down our throats and our bellies.  
  
I noticed James was barely even drinking, mostly spinning his drink around in the dark, amber colored rocks glass until it created a miniature cyclone. He shifted uncomfortably, like he had somewhere else to be, better things to do.  
  
The place was packed full of eye candy, and even so, even skeletal thin and ghostly pale, James was the most beautiful guy in the room. I didn’t think of him like, I don’t know, a potential prospect, some guy I could lay out on my bed and have my wicked way with. I’d _never_ thought of him like that. But I could acknowledge that he was stunning. That he always had been, at his best and at his worst.  
  
We’d only been in the club for ten minutes before he stood up, coltish and unsteady, and said he was going to go smoke.   
  
Maybe I needed fresh air. Maybe I wanted answers. Maybe I just didn’t want to let him out of my sight.   
  
I excused myself too, saying I wanted to grab a bottle of water from the gas station convenience store across the street. Never mind that I could get a perfectly good glass form the bartender, complete with ice and totally free. We burst out onto the street, and I jerked my head at him to indicate I wanted him to cross with me. He hesitated, then followed.   
  
I left him outside the quickie mart, walking inside to a food of too-bright fluorescent lighting and the smell of stale chips. I grabbed a bottle of Poland Springs and strode up to the cashier; a bored teenage girl with dreadlocks and about eight visible facial piercings. She rung up the bottle without even looking up, and I took the opportunity to peer sideways out the window at James.   
  
He was tapping the bottom of a pack of cigarettes, frustrated, like if he hit it hard enough, one might magically appear. I turned to the clerk and asked for some Reds.  
  
Outside, I offered them up, and he looked like he wanted to say something nasty, something that certainly wouldn’t have been ‘thank you’, but instead he took them with a grateful nod. He tore off the protective film and tapped out a cigarette, like it was a familiar, time-honored routine.   
  
I’d never seen James smoke a day in his life.   
  
His fingers were shaking as he tried to flick a lighter, and watching it made me feel like someone had taken a blunted rock and waved it carelessly around, hollowing out my insides. Like I had no pain left to feel; just empty curiosity and a dull throb. Like I was standing outside myself. I took a step forward and grabbed the offending plastic object, thumbing the wheel and cupping my hand over the flame, every movement steady.  
  
He met my gaze, level, measured, his lips still wrapped around the cigarette as he leaned in towards me. The flame reflected back at me, dancing in his eyes. James’s lips puckered as he sucked in, breathing fire as the paper caught. Seconds ticked by before he exhaled, blowing smoke in my eyes as he straightened with a mumbled ‘thanks’.   
  
I straightened up, feeling dizzy even though my previous buzz had vanished the second I heard James’s voice in Fate.   
  
“Where have you been?” my voice was gruffer, _meaner_ than I meant it to be.   
  
“Around,” James gestured at the flashing neon lights and grim fronts of downtown LA.  
  
I grabbed for his wrist, stopping the cigarette on its path back to his mouth, “That’s not really an answer.”  
  
He sighed.   
  
“Culver City, Inglewood, Mulholland if I’m bored. Venice Beach, sometimes, when cash is low. Burbank. I’ve got some friends in Pasadena, but it’s a hike.”  
  
“I don’t- that’s all over the place.”  
  
“I’m like a nomad, now. The only place I _don’t_ go is the Chateau Marmont,” he laughed, like he’d just told a really funny joke, but I felt- god, I don’t even know.   
  
Take something familiar, comforting, homey and _pervert_ it, make it wrong. Now imagine you can’t figure out _why_. Every time you finally capture the whole picture, figure out where the brushstroke’s gone awry, pinpoint the spot where the edge has turned blurry, the pivotal flaw slips out of your fingers.   
  
Like when you grasp at sand beneath the ocean’s surface and can never keep it from siphoning out of your palm.  
  
James was just like that. I’d look at him and see the guy I’d grown up with, the same old flash of pearly white teeth and quirked lips, the kindness in his eyes, and then at next glance his smile became alien, his eyes hard. He had aged, but that wasn’t it.   
  
And whenever my mind flickered to what the real problem might be, I squelched the thought, because it was too sick, too twisted, too surreal. This slippery idea, sand slithering from my grip.   
  
“Why’d you- stop calling?”  
  
James flicked a sarcastic look in my direction, but didn’t say anything.   
  
I tried again, “Why’d you pretend you didn’t know me? Back at the club?”  
  
His lips curled up at the ends, and he plucked the cigarette from his mouth and said concisely, clearly, cruelly, “I was really hoping it wasn’t.”  
  
It felt like a punch in the gut. It felt like something I deserved.   
  
By the end of the night, I was the soberest guy in our group. Meaning designated driver. It was hours later.   
  
Camille had conned Logan into throwing back drink after drink after drink. Now they were slumped in the back of Carlos’s car, passed out against each other. Carlos hadn’t needed any encouragement to down alcohol, the impromptu return of our prodigal best friend the greatest reason of all to party it up. James and Guitar Dude- Joseph- were squished into the back seat with the two ex lovebirds. Guitar dude was out like a light, but James was awake, alert.   
  
He told me to drop him off at an unmarked corner, a street so small it didn’t even have a name. I couldn’t see anything around that looked like housing.   
  
“Are you sure?”  
  
“Positive.”  
  
“But how are we going to reach you? How are we going to find you again?”  
  
James bit his lip, “This wasn’t enough of a reunion?”  
  
He pushed open the door, elbowed Guitar Dude a few times until the musician woke up and he came stumbling onto the sidewalk after James. And I stayed, my foot on the pedal but not in park, trying to figure out what to do.   
  
That was when I saw Logan’s eyes, half open, in the rearview mirror.   
  
“You okay, dude?” I asked, trying to sound appropriately concerned about his oncoming hangover.   
  
Logan shook his head, voice broken, “He’s on drugs, Kendall.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
And I did.   
  
The last thing I wanted to do was leave James on a street corner without knowing whether I’d ever see him again. So someone explain to me why I slammed my foot on the gas and sped away?  
  
[Chapter Seven](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2308.html#cutid1)


	7. Shut Your Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Future!Fic. Kendall returns to L.A. six years after Big Time Rush disbanded. James has been missing for years. Imagine how things change when James reappears in his life. And he needs help.

**Title:** Shut Your Eyes  
 **Authors:** [](http://goten0040.livejournal.com/profile)[**goten0040**](http://goten0040.livejournal.com/) and [](http://garnetice.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://garnetice.livejournal.com/)**garnetice**  
 **Chapter:** 7  
 **Rating:** M  
 **Ship(s):** Kendall/James, Carlos/Stephanie, maybe more.  
 **Summary:** Future!Fic. Kendall returns to L.A. six years after Big Time Rush disbanded. James has been missing for years. Imagine how things change when James reappears in his life. And he needs help.

Chapter Seven

“You just… let him go?!”

Carlos was pissed. Pissed, and still a little drunk. He’d always been an aggressive drunk, too, so when I told him that James had left, he shoved me into the car.

“What, you think I could’ve stopped him?”

“Did you even try?” Carlos swayed a little on his feet, and Logan grabbed his arm, kind of coming between us.

“Did you even try to get him to come with us? We may never see him again!”

“He’s in L.A.,” Camille said, and her voice was oddly small. “This place isn’t that big…. I mean… I’m sure you’ll see him again.”

“Fuck off, Kendall! I can’t believe you did that!”

I knew it was the alcohol talking, but I was just as mad at myself as Carlos was.

I got a hotel room that night. I couldn’t deal with the night’s events with my friends breathing down my neck. Carlos had yelled a little more, gone inside, and passed out on the couch. Logan had said goodnight to Camille and got her a cab – even when I offered to take her home – and when the yellow car had pulled away from the curb, her sad, brown eyes staring out at me and pleading - Logan whirled on me.

“He’s got a serious problem, Kendall. Did you see how shaky he was in the club? He was already de-toxing and it couldn’t have been that long since he’d had a hit.”

I frowned. I didn’t want to talk about it, but Logan was a doctor. It was all he could talk about. “God, he’s so skinny. He’s almost evaporated,” he said, shaking his head in disgust. “I just can’t believe it. How could this happen?”

I curled up in the hotel bed in silence, wanting to shut out the world, but Logan’s words kept playing over and over in my head, a thrumming melody of guilt.

_How could this happen? How could this happen? How could this happen?_

Fuck. Didn’t he know? We weren’t there to help him. That was how the fuck it happened.

I yanked the covers up to my neck, but I was still freezing. I couldn’t sleep. I just stared at the curtains on the window and listened to the faint hum of the hallway lights. God… he was so damn skinny. He was just so damn skinny. And there was something inherently wrong in the fact that his hair was not perfect like it always had been. He’d been so particular with it before. It was just so damn wrong.

He did have a problem. A major problem. And I couldn’t fix it. Or… maybe I didn’t want to. Maybe I was sick and fucking tired of fixing everyone’s problems when I had my own to deal with. I felt like screaming, ripping myself open from the inside out. And my head was hurting. Fuck, it was hurting more than it ever had. There was a sharp, rapping, pounding, pain in my skull, just throbbing away with each beat of my heart. I curled even further into myself under those sheets, fairly sure that if I moved from that spot, I’d vomit.

It was true though. I had problems too. Why did I have to worry about everyone else all the time? I mean, damn it, it wasn’t like my life was going swimmingly. My friends had lives and I didn’t. Fuck, I had _nothing_ going on in my life. I’d somehow along the way stumbled into a rut and just started carrying on like everything was fine. But it wasn’t. My career was quickly heading down the tubes since I wasn’t on the ice, and I was too fucking afraid to get on the ice because someone called me a faggot? Damn. Of course, the truth behind it may have been the problem. I didn’t know. But I was exhausted and scared and lonely and I had no one.

I was ecstatic to see my friends and family again, of course, but that wasn’t enough. To see them spawned a guilt in me that was hard to fight. After all, it wasn’t like I didn’t have the ability or the funds to see them. I could have visited them whenever I wanted. But I didn’t. Because of James. James was fucking gone and he ruined everything.

And now he was back, but he was still ruining everything.

It was a selfish thought. I knew it was. I also knew it was completely untrue. He’d been there for awhile. I had been the one who left. But everything had seemed just fine and then he just disappeared and, somehow, my life went with him. I had idealized meeting James again, in a way. I had always thought he’d be that perfect little narcissist with the white teeth and the great hair. I thought he would have made something of himself. And if he had, maybe everything would be okay for me and him and everyone.

He still had nice teeth, I guess.

The worst part was, there was still a part of me that wanted to fix everything. I had been so good at it when I was younger. When Dad had walked out of the house, I was left to pick up the pieces, and I’d be damned if I didn’t put the shattered family back together the only way I knew how. I was only thirteen when he left, just becoming a man with no father to tell me how the hell to do it. It was rough, but I grinned all the way through it, like a good little boy. And Mom and Katie healed, and everything was fine.

Kind of.

They never knew how bad my dad being gone fucked with me. I would lie in bed at night and just wonder. Why? Why did he leave? Was it something I did? Was I a crappy son?

Then came the whole wanting to fuck boys thing. And I would lay in bed at the Palm Woods or wherever I ended up, and wonder if that might have been the problem. Like, maybe he knew that I was gay and was ashamed of me. Maybe I was ashamed of me.

And even after the horrible, sobering moment where I realized James had gone the way of the has-beens, I still found myself missing him. Missing him terribly. Knowing he was alive changed something in me. He was alive. He could be okay. He could really be okay. Right?

I found myself very bothered by the idea that just about everyone in my life had left me. And the ones that hadn’t, I had left before they could.

I’m so fucked up. I’m really fucked up.

My cell phone was lying gently, close to my head, and it had a few unread text messages from Logan and one from Camille. I didn’t want to look at them. I knew Logan was still fretting over James and Camille – well, I didn’t really fucking know – but I wasn’t feeling particularly social at all.

I managed to force myself into a rough sleep.

.

I was still depressed when morning came. I remained in bed until about nine a.m., just staring at that ugly wallpaper and the matching drapes. To face the day just seemed a little too hard at that moment.

Then my phone lit up, and that stupid ring began to leak from the speaker. I didn’t know the number.

“Hello?” I half-whispered into the phone, exhausted.

“Y-yeah. Um… is this… Is this Kendall Knight?”

I sat up. “James?”

“Yeah.”

“How did you… get my number?”

“It’s the same number you’ve always had. I remembered it.”

It hurt me even more to know that he still knew my number and hadn’t bothered to call. “You calling from a pay phone?”

“Mmhmm.” He paused, a bit nervously. “Listen… I need some money.”

I felt my face fall. Money.

He was calling me for fucking money.

“Oh, so you just assumed you could just waltz back into my life and right into my wallet?”

I actually heard James cringe on the other line and another quarter slip into the pay phone. “Kendall… I… I’m sorry. I’m just… I’m kind of in a bind. I owe a guy, and I was going to work last night to make the money, but we went out instead. Now I don’t have it and he really… well, he wants it today. I promise I’ll pay you back. I promise!”

“…How much?”

“Four-fifty.”

“Fuck, what?!”

“I’m sorry, man.”

I shook my head. “It’s… it’s fine. It’s fine. I’ll let you keep the money, but I want answers, James. Seriously.”

There was a long silence. Another quarter was dropped into the machine. “…Okay. Where should I meet you?”

“What’s a good place for you. I’ve got a rental car. I imagine you’re on foot?”

“Mmhmm… but I’ve been walking forever. I can meet wherever you want.” Another pause. “…I want to see you.”  
I felt my heart flutter, just a little. Maybe there was hope for James.

“Um… let’s see… well, there’s a coffee shop not too far from here…”

We talked for a few more minutes, decided where and when to meet and he hung up the phone. I gazed at my cell phone for a very long time. He needed four hundred and fifty bucks. Cash.

I wasn’t a fucking idiot. I knew what I was paying for. I knew Logan would probably tell me I was enabling him or some bullshit medical jargon. But James was my friend, and I wasn’t going to let him get his head bashed in because he didn’t have money. And I needed answers. I could fork up a little cash for that.

.

James was bouncing his knees restlessly at the table when I finally stepped into the Starbucks we had planned on meeting at. In the daylight he looked even worse. His eyelids drooped dangerously and he kind of swayed in his chair, like he was trying to stay awake. The bags under his eyes were much darker and prominent in the light spilling in from the coffee shop window, and he looked even dirtier than I remembered from the night before. His hair jutted out at odd angles, frizzy and messy, and he just looked… sick. Yeah. That was it. He looked sick.

“Hey,” I said, putting on a smile and taking a seat in front of him.

He half-nodded with a slurred, “Hey. You got it?”

I handed him an envelope. “I took out five hundred. Figured you could use the extra fifty for anything you might need.”

He looked like he wanted to cry for a moment. “Thanks.” He slipped the envelope into his jacket pocket slowly, like his hands were made of concrete.

I leaned on my hand, watching him as he did so. God, he looked awful.

“Listen, do you… need anything else? You’re looking a little rough, dude.”

“Oh, me? I’m fine. I’m fine.” He stared down at the table, his head bobbing a little, his body trying to nod off. Then, his head jutted up and he was perfectly alert. “Just fine.”

I frowned. “You don’t look fine.”

“Well, we don’t all have stylists following us around anymore,” James responded, and there was a twinge of bitterness in his voice as he spoke.

I scratched at the stubble on my chin. I hardly looked like I had showered, much less had been styled magnificently like we both had when we were a part of Big Time Rush. That wasn’t really fair at all.

“I didn’t mean it like that. You were always the handsome one, you know.”

James nodded with a half-smile. It was both heartbreaking and heartwarming at the same time. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I was.”

“You want some coffee?”

“No thanks.”

He fidgeted a little, and I was worried he’d try to get out of talking to me. The last thing he looked like he wanted to do was talk about his life. And I was almost okay with that, if I could get him fed and bathed and looking like James again. But I pushed on.

“Well, you said you’d give me answers.”

“What do you want to know?”

“…Why? Why did you leave?”

Suddenly I was taken back to the questions I had worried on as a child, directed at my father. And I was afraid to know the answers. James’ answers could have very well been the same as my father’s, even though I didn’t know exactly what they were. I wasn’t a good enough friend. He was embarrassed by me. He hated me.

“Oh… I don’t know, Kendall. I tried to do it on my own and… just… the bad days started to outweigh the good. I needed to get out for awhile. Get away.”

For a moment, I thought he was done, so I pried further.

“Bad days? You never mentioned anything bad happening.”

“No, I didn’t. I really didn’t want to. I mean…” He leaned on his hand, looking tired again. “I thought everything would work. I’m… I was… a good singer. I had it all going for me. But the solo album didn’t sell too well, and I kinda tried to keep going like everything was fine, and tried to enjoy the celeb lifestyle and all that. But… it just… I don’t know. People started talking. Bad things happened. It just didn’t turn out too well. I didn’t want anyone to know.”

“But why leave? Couldn’t you have tried again?”

James shook his head. “I fucked up, Kendall. I fucked up my one big dream. I figured I deserved what happened, because I kind of… lost sight of it…. Fuck. I need a cigarette.” He lit one up, even though the barista was glaring and pointing to the No Smoking sign. He flashed her his middle finger.

I grimaced, trying to put it all together. He was still being pretty vague.

“…When do you have to get the money to this guy.”

James looked vividly uncomfortable, shifting in his seat. “Oh… soon, I think. I should probably head that way, actually. Don’t want him getting antsy.”

He was already out of his chair and shuffling for the door when I caught him. My hand wrapped completely around his wrist, and he turned to stare at me with wide hazel eyes.

“Kendall…” he said softly.

_Don’t do this._ It was my first thought, but I couldn’t bring myself to verbalize it.

“You… look hungry. Tell you what… why don’t we get something to eat later and you can get a shower… and stuff. Yeah. Just get you a little cleaned up?” I didn’t want to see him like that. It was the only thing I could think to offer at the time.

“Oh… I don’t know…”

“You owe more than one explanation. Can we just talk? Just for a little while?”

James nodded slowly, shame seeming to weigh him down. “Y-yeah. I can do that. Where are you staying?”

We exchanged a few more words and he was rushing away at a faster pace than I had ever seen him walk. It was as if he was terrified.

Then again, I was terrified too, so I guess for once it seemed fitting.  



	8. Shut Your Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Future!Fic. Kendall returns to L.A. six years after Big Time Rush disbanded. James has been missing for years. Imagine how things change when James reappears in his life. And he needs help.

**Title:** Shut Your Eyes  
 **Authors:** [](http://goten0040.livejournal.com/profile)[**goten0040**](http://goten0040.livejournal.com/) and [](http://garnetice.livejournal.com/profile)[**garnetice**](http://garnetice.livejournal.com/)  
 **Chapter:** 8  
 **Rating:** M  
 **Ship(s):** Kendall/James, Carlos/Stephanie, maybe more.  
 **Summary:** Future!Fic. Kendall returns to L.A. six years after Big Time Rush disbanded. James has been missing for years. Imagine how things change when James reappears in his life. And he needs help.  
 **Previous Chapters:**[1](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/852.html#cutid1), [2](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1274.html), [3](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1511.html#cutid1), [4](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1554.html#cutid1), [5](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1996.html#cutid1), [6](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2234.html), [7](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2308.html#cutid1)  
 

\---  
  
Drugs always seemed pointless. 

Even when Big Time Rush was in its prime and wide-eyed groupies and big muscled roadies were trying to slip us anything and everything, I just didn’t _get it_. It wasn’t about morals, or being straightedge, or true to myself or whatever. It was about control.

I’d never been a perfectionist, like Logan. I’d never had obsessive compulsive desires or a nervous breakdown when I didn’t get my way. Most people told me I was laid back. _Chill_.

But at the same time, I liked knowing where I stood. I liked being the one people looked to for a solution when there was a problem. I didn’t mind taking the edge off every once in a while with some Jack on the rocks, but drugs? They’d always seemed so… _permanent_.

I got it, logically. Thing about control was that it felt nice at first, giving it up. 

With drinking, there were levels. Buzzed, trashed, blackout wasted. The few times the last one had happened to me were accompanied by hangovers so severe I puked for hours and then curled up beneath my comforter waiting for blessed darkness. Praying for the sick feeling in my stomach and the persistent, electric pain in my head to pass. Then I swore I’d never party that hard again, and the memory of it all kept me from ever even thinking about making a career out of alcoholism. Eventually the memories would recede and I’d start the cycle all over again, but it never got out of hand.

With drugs, I knew I wouldn’t get that choice. No matter how hard the day after hit me, I’d want more. I’d think I could handle it, but I wouldn’t have been able to. That kind of chemical shit fucked people smarter than me over on a daily basis. It wrested their control away, forced them to wave the white flag.

That’s the other thing about control. Once you surrender it completely, I knew you never got it back. 

I’d always been too scared to let go like that.

It was kind of hilarious that my own weakness, the niggling fear that nobody ever guessed I had was what kept me from giving in. I mean, at the time BTR’s fame spiked, I was already beginning to realize that I was too fucked up to function. I’d figured, why add to the pile?

But I won’t lie. I came close to experimenting, once. It was towards the end of our fifth national tour. The last show was back home, in LA. My sexual revelation had hit hard and fast about two years prior, and the media was starting to hound me about my complete lack of interest in female-kind. Plus, I was getting older. Playing for the Wild was starting to feel like it might be a pipe dream. And I guess the weight on my shoulders got to be too much. It was starting to show.

We were playing at some shady little bar that was kind of way below our pay-grade. It was a special favor to Kelly, who was dating a guy that was, well, frankly, way below her class. But she wanted to give him and his friends a taste of fame, so she booked us at his favorite bar. Never mind that the guy was _edgy_ and hated _boy bands_. She was convinced the whole gig was a good idea, and bullied Gustavo into agreeing.

So anyway, we paid our dues and played the show to the smallest amount of applause I’d heard during the course of our entire career. Afterwards, we were milling around, being social with Kelly’s skeezy boyfriend’s skeezy friends. I had to piss. In the dank, dimly lit bathroom, I went about my business, examining the faded, ripped stickers of bands long ago on the walls. Neon, bold, big letters, small letters. They were hypnotizing.

While I was washing up, kind of lost for soap but knowing Logan would chew me out if my hands weren’t _sanitary_ , some scraggly guy I recognized from the band that had gone on before us entered. He seemed alright. We talked. He offered me LA Turnaround, which I later found out was a stupid street name for amphetamines. Which isn’t the point, but I always found that name ironic. LA Turnaround. Like you come out here and lose your soul.

Maybe you do. Look at the way James slipped through the cracks.

Anyway. I nearly took it. My hand reached out, and I nearly had the pills in my mouth before I stopped and turned around. I never could say what made me stop. My friends. My future. The realization that it would’ve been a poor coping mechanism.

My preferred poor coping mechanism was obviously attempting to outrun the world.

Whatever. That’s the closest I’d ever gotten to fucking around with drugs. Well, the hardcore shit, anyway.

Meaning my knowledge was kind of limited. So, after leaving the coffeehouse, I went straight back to my apartment. It was a tiny place; I’d picked it up with the intention of using it whenever I came back to Hollywood, but in all actuality, I’d barely ever spent more than a few days there. It was dusty and unfamiliar, and I had to strip the sheets off the mattress before I could find somewhere clean to sit down. I firmly resolved that I’d either have to sell it when I headed back out to Minnesota or shell out the cash to pay somebody to upkeep the place.

And then I pulled my laptop out of my suitcase and wikipediad addiction.

I knew it was stupid; consulting Dr. Internet when I had Dr. Mitchell and about a million other MDs right in my backyard. I’d heard that the web creates hypochondriacs, but I never understood why until I did my own google search. Wikipedia wasn’t much help, but Google Images? Man, that shit is frightening.

I didn’t know what James was on. Heroin or crack or fucking LA Turnaround. He hadn’t exactly been holding out his arms so I could scour them for needle marks. But none of the drugs I looked up were exactly shiny happy examples of a fun time. The withdrawal symptoms looked even worse.

I was scared. For James, and for myself. I didn’t know how to help him.

But I wasn’t willing to call Logan and Carlos and recruit them into ganging up on our friend, either. I didn’t know why, but I wanted to keep him for myself for a little while.

Maybe I thought I could save him all by myself.

I’d always been good at being a hero. My friends had always expected it of me. I knew their expectations had fallen a lot in the past few years, and there was a big chance that I just wanted to show them up. To show them I still could be the guy they remembered.

Or maybe I was just trying to confront my abandonment issues head on, and I didn’t want them to see how weak all of it made me.

Either way, I didn’t pick up the phone and tell them that James and I had a dinner date.

Which I still had a few hours to kill before attending.

Mostly I pandered about the apartment, cleaning off whatever surfaces I could with paper towels and water. It was busy work. Made it easy not to think.

Except, like I said, the place was tiny. I was finished soon enough, and I had nothing better to do than lie back on the bare mattress and reminisce about the good old days.

It killed me.

I remembered the first acting job Big Time Rush scored. A commercial, to sponsor some ridiculous sports drink that Gustavo was addicted to. James marathoned like, a full day of TV and then stood in front of the mirror for hours, practicing facial expressions he’d stolen from sitcoms and dramas. Like he had to practice how to crinkle his eyes and laugh, like emotions were something he didn’t actually know how to feel.

The commercial was horrible. We were all corny and awkward and our grins were a little maniacal, but the thing I remembered most was watching it air a few weeks later.

James had the smile of a stranger.

It wasn’t on the air anymore. BTR was way past its prime. But even so, every once in a while I’d look it up, on YouTube, for chuckles or nostalgia or to show a casual fuck what my life used to be like before hockey took over.

And every time I did, I’d remember him standing there, in front of the mirror, rehearsing how to be human.

I bit my lip and wondered, there in my empty apartment, if that was some kind of warning sign that I’d missed. I re-catalogued every single interaction James and I had ever had, poring over it all for- I don’t even fucking know. An early indicator?

James wasn’t the kind of person who just- gave up on life. He used to be vibrant. Fucking high on _life_. And yeah, he’d been a little ethereal, untouchable, to some people. I’d heard friends call him aloof. Most people interpreted it as arrogance, and some of it was. But anyone who really knew him knew that underneath the façade of vanity and ambition was a sweet, vulnerable guy. As a kid, he’d even been shy. Guarded.

Like he’d always known that a heart was something a person had to protect. Like he hadn’t learned it as he grew, like the rest of us.

By the time I was supposed to meet James, I was freaking out. I worried so much that I didn’t realize I’d bitten through the skin of my lip until blood blossomed, tangy and metallic in my mouth.

I cursed quietly to myself, just as the buzzer rang.

James was downstairs. The whole elevator ride to the ground floor, I sucked on my own blood the entire way down, the sharp taste keeping me in real-time, reminding me that I was stuck in some sick nightmare.

He was sitting on the concrete wall outside my place, pulling a cigarette from a pack.

Black was always the color I wore when I hadn’t done the wash in weeks and wanted to hide the dirt, but James’s shirt was so grimy it was brown in parts, so worn that it was gray in others. I could see it in the filth lining the creases of his fingers, the way his hands trembled when he struggled with the lighter.

This was not the boy I’d always known.

My lips thinned in a line I couldn’t help as I approached. He looked up, his expression blank. His eyes were haunted, like I was a ghost he could see through, and he was both awed and terrified by my presence. I felt like he was hoping I’d walk on by, while simultaneously hoping I’d stay. Cigarette smoke spiraled towards the clouds until the two were indistinguishable.

“Hey,” I said.

He nodded, “You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” I offered him a weak grin, and I felt like blood still stained my teeth, “Where do you want to eat?”

James hesitated, and I could smell nicotine and cheap cologne on his fingers, his hair, “Let’s get out of this town. Somewhere far away.”

So we hitched a cab to the Crab Cooker in Newport Beach. It was kind of a long haul, and the fare was a ripoff, but James seemed content to spend the hour’s ride staring out the window like it was his first glimpse of the world.

The restaurant smelled like spicy chowder, barbecue, and their trademark breadsticks. James scooped up a handful of saltwater taffy from the glass bowl that stood near the entry way and chewed his way through half of it while we were waiting to give our order. His gaze darted from the stuffed sharks and swordfish that hung overhead to the other diners, unwilling to settle on any one thing. He seemed so distracted.

I, on the other hand, was hyper-vigilant. The chair beneath me, the hardness of the table and the texture of the paper placemat, the sweating plastic glass of water beneath my hands; it was all there.

And James’s eyes. I’d never realized how much I’d missed them. I’d never seen their exact color anywhere else in my travels. Other people’s stares had never held the same weight.

He caught me looking, “What?”

“Just- I was just thinking about when we were in first grade, and Jenny Tinkler asked you out.”

A smile curved James’s mouth, just for a second, “Before she tried to burn my face off?”

“Yeah, that,” I smiled back, “And then you turned her down, and she poured the class aquarium over your head.”

“Poor Goldie the goldfish was never the same, after that,” James mourned, “And then she went after you.”

“I ran like hell,” I said.

James agreed, eyes drifting again, “You always were a runner.”

It felt like an accusation. He’d always been like that. He could see the easiest way to cut a person down without even trying. They always said the best offense was a good defense, but I knew better. The best offense was a good fucking offense. James had that down.

He was trying to ward off our impending conversation.

I kind of wanted to let him. We could’ve spent the rest of the night talking about the good old days, about being kids back in Minnesota.

Back when people and movies and stories told us things would get simpler when we grew up.

But fairytales lied, apparently.

Our waitress arrived. We ordered. She left.

I took a deep breath, determined not to wimp out, “James.”

His head snapped up from studiously examining his torn cuticles.

“I know.”

“Know what?”

“That you’re on- something.”

James’s gaze went steady, his hands stilling from where he’d been drumming on the table, his expression measured.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

That’s the other thing I never liked about drugs. Shit got scary. It wasn’t just the actual symptoms, or how addicts become a ghost of their former selves. It was about how an addict was willing to cheat and lie, to betray a friend at the drop of a hat.

Although, I supposed I hadn’t exactly been a very good friend.

“Right,” I lifted an eyebrow and tried to look wiser than I actually was, “You’re still a really terrible liar.”

“I’ve never been a terrible liar,” he replied, not looking fooled, “That was _you_.”

True enough.

“Nice scar, by the way,” he commented idly, pointing to my forehead, “Did you get it by making wild accusations towards someone else who didn’t appreciate it?”

Wow. I’d forgotten how good he was at redirection. My hands twitched, and I wanted to cover up the evidence of everything I’d been going through, but I stood my ground, “Don’t change the subject.”

James slumped back in his chair, “I’m fucking starving.”

Understatement of the year. I could see his ribs through his threadbare shirt.

“Otherwise,” he continued, “I’d get a cab back to LA right now.”

We both knew he wouldn’t have been able to afford it.

Our food arrived at the table, steaming hot. It smelled delicious. My stomach felt like it might revolt.

I used to be blunt. The old James would’ve expected it from the old Kendall.

So I tried being blunt, “Have you tried rehab?”

James sighed.

For a long, long time, I didn’t think he was going to answer.

Then, finally, painstakingly, he spoke.

“I went to the methadone clinic. Twice. It’s not the same. They discontinued my treatment for,” he made air quotes with his fingers, “Noncompliance.”

I knew fuck-all about methadone clinics, or if they were a Good Thing. I thought I might’ve read something during my exploration of Google that they used it to treat heroin. Which made my gut clench and my throat squeeze closed and my jaw stiffen, because I was really hoping it wasn’t- well.

Heroin had been of the most frightening searches I’d done.

But I didn’t comment on it, just nodded my head and said, “Oh.”

“What? Nothing judgey to say?” he snorted, “You’re not going to preach?”

“What do you want me to say, dude?”

“I don’t want you to say _anything_ ,” he replied, almost violently, “I didn’t ask you to come back into my life and _babysit_ me.”

“I’m not trying to do that,” I told him, trying to control my voice, “You were the one who called me and asked for money.”

“I figured you owed me that much,” he muttered.

He’d been kinder this afternoon. Now he was different. More in command of his faculties, but somehow wilder. Less inhibited.

Even knowing what had contributed to it, to his spacey eyes and his mood swings, didn’t make me feel better.

“How about we save the talking until- until we get back to my place. Get you cleaned up.”

James glared at me.

“Not- that way. Just- you know. Showered. Rested. Like we talked about this afternoon?” I reminded him.

“Whatever,” James said, ignoring me in favor of his food.

Only, by the end of the meal, all he’d done was shift it around on his plate.  
  
\---  
  
[Chapter Nine](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2935.html#cutid1)


	9. Shut Your Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Future!Fic. Kendall returns to L.A. six years after Big Time Rush disbanded. James has been missing for years. Imagine how things change when James reappears in his life. And he needs help.

Did I just make the second update to this fic today? You bet I did.

**Title:** Shut Your Eyes  
 **Authors:**  [](http://goten0040.livejournal.com/profile)[ **goten0040**](http://goten0040.livejournal.com/)   and [](http://garnetice.livejournal.com/profile)[ **garnetice**](http://garnetice.livejournal.com/)   
 **Chapter:** 9  
 **Rating:** M  
 **Ship(s):** Kendall/James, Carlos/Stephanie, maybe more.  
 **Summary:** Future!Fic. Kendall returns to L.A. six years after Big Time Rush disbanded. James has been missing for years. Imagine how things change when James reappears in his life. And he needs help.

Chapter Nine

I don’t know why I incessantly cleaned when we returned to my apartment. There wasn’t anything too clean, but some weird part of me wanted to make everything perfect for James, almost as if I could remind him that things could be cleaned up and okay sometimes. His eyes followed me as I moved things and cleaned things and all together didn’t really get much accomplished, but continued babbling on about how he could shower and get cleaned up and borrow some of my clothes and all that shit.

When he finally slinked off to the shower, I felt a mixture of relief and utter dread. I didn’t want him behind a closed door. That door was a barrier that allowed him to go right back to what had destroyed him, and my mind wouldn’t stop telling me that he was probably shooting up, even though the water was running. Shooting up, fuck that was an awful verb. It infected my mind with poison like it infected his veins with the same.

I ended up lying on the mattress, staring at the ceiling and wishing for a TV to break the silence.

The shower stopped.

After what seemed to be an eternity, James came shuffling out in a pair of my jeans and a hooded sweatshirt. Both of them swallowed him, but I’d lucked out in that we were about the same height. Still, he was holding my jeans up by the waistband.

“Your clothes don’t fit me,” he said, and it felt like he was offended by the very idea that they didn’t.

“Oh… I’m sorry. I’ve… got some sweatpants you can borrow instead.”

He nodded and I got up and dug in my bag for them, tossing them over my shoulder. I heard them hit the floor. James’ hockey reflexes weren’t what they used to be, that was for sure. At least he was clean. His wet hair still stuck to his neck in places, but even in the dark tinge that came from soaking it with water, I could tell it would be a different color completely.

“Cool. Thanks.” He didn’t sound thankful at all.

“You’re welcome.”

A long pause.

“I didn’t shoot up if that’s what you’re wondering. Christ.” He popped a cigarette and I noticed his hands were shaking. “Haven’t had any all fucking day. Hope you’re happy.”

I bit my lip. “Why not?”

“Good fucking question. Maybe I figured I should be lucid when I talk to you so you don’t have me doing anything stupid.”

Yeah, like he wasn’t doing anything stupid. But that wasn’t the argument I needed to make at the moment. Once he had the cigarette burning between his lips, he dropped the jeans to the floor and began to pull on the sweatpants. I saw track marks on his legs. It made me nauseous.

“Well, excuse me for that then.” I couldn’t fight the sarcasm in my voice. I think I had a right to be a little pissed off.

“Whatever, dude,” James replied, rubbing at his hair with the towel and taking a long drag on the cigarette. “So I’m assuming Logan and Carlos will be showing up over here soon and weeping over letters about how they want me to be better?”

I glared. “No. They don’t even know you’re here. I don’t know if Carlos even knows you’re… um…”

“Fucked up? Yeah, I’m sure he knows. Everyone fucking knows, obviously.”

“We’re all fucked up. That doesn’t mean we go around sticking needles in our arms.”

“Yeah, some of us prefer to run away and pretend their life never even happened.”

That stung. I clenched my fists. “I didn’t run away. God forbid I do something for me and not for anyone else all the time.”

“Hey, you’re the one that decided to be the go-to guy, asshole. You don’t just walk away from that because one day you decide to be selfish.”

“Selfish?! I didn’t have anything going for me here! We all knew that once Big Time Rush was over that I would be going to play hockey-“

“Yes, cause you obviously have so much going for you right now.”

“Yeah, you too.” A pause. I felt my throat running dry. “You know, James… if I had stayed here… I might have ended up just like you. So sorry if I give a crap about living.”

“So if you like playing hockey so much, why aren’t you still up north playing it?”

“I—“ I frowned. “I got hurt, okay? Nearly got my head bashed in.”

“So you were playing a game in which you could have died. Yeah, big difference.”

“I don’t choose to get my head bashed in. Don’t even try to compare what you’re doing to me.”

James seethed. “You know what? Fuck this. I’m out.”

James headed for the door.

“Why did you even bother to come here then? If I get in the way of how you’re living, your fucking drugs, and everything’s going just the way you like it, why did you even bother coming here?!”

“I needed money.”

“And I gave it to you. But you still came back. Why?!” I grabbed him by the sweatshirt and I found myself screaming it in his face over and over again. “WHY?!”

James’ fist cracked across my jaw then and I stumbled backwards a couple of steps. He’d always had a mean right. Then, suddenly, rage exploded behind my eyes and I was attacking him, knocking him to the floor, fists flying. I guess I just wanted to blame him for everything bad that had happened to me, because it seemed like everything had gone to shit in my life about the same time it had in his. And I was just so fucking mad, because he could have been something. And he wasn’t. And it just… it infuriated me. I just kept punching him, wailing on him, and I couldn’t even feel whatever hits he delivered to me because I was just so mad with rage. James kneed me in the stomach, flipping me over and slamming his fists into my chest. And he was screaming. Just… screaming like all the pain in his heart would dissipate with every punch. And then his hands were on my throat and we weren’t kids anymore. Everything turned very real. James had been living on the street, fighting for his life on a daily basis.

And his hands were on my fucking throat, crushing my windpipe. I gasped for air, trying to roll the skinny boy off of me, but his adrenaline was rushing and keeping him strong. My lungs started to burn for oxygen and I flailed under him.

“Ja… Ja…” I sputtered, feeling my eyes trying to roll back in my head. “Ja—“

Then his hands were gone and I was left coughing and holding my throat. Sparks were still bursting before my eyes.

I finally managed to crane my head to see James, the pain starting to seep in where I’d been hit when my adrenaline began to quell. He was sitting against the wall, all bruised up and bloody and pale, staring at me with wide, frightened eyes. I’d done a bit of a number on his face. His nose was bleeding and his eye was bruised and swelling. And judging by the way my face and neck and body hurt, I was probably in the same shape, or at least close to it.

“Fuck…” I whispered, and my throat burned. My voice sounded muffled to my ears.

I managed to sit up, and my head spun momentarily.

“James?” I questioned.

He bowed his head, strands of wet hair flopping into his face.

“Son of a bitch,” he whimpered. “Why did you… why did you have to push it? Why?”

I touched my neck again. It was insanely tender. I wasn’t sure if I should go see a doctor or not.

“You… you tried to…”

“Shit,” James cried out, burying his head in his knees. “Shit, shit, shit!”

I don’t know if he felt guilty or if thought I was gonna call the cops or what, but I crawled over to him, my arms aching under me, grabbing him by the arm with half-numb fingers. I didn’t know what to say. What could I say? He’d basically just tried to kill me, hadn’t he? I could still feel the sting of anger in my gut.

“Would it have been worth it?”I asked. “Would it have been worth this shit?!” I yanked the sleeve up and smacked the track marks on his arm.

“Stop it. Just stop it.” He was shaking so hard that he almost seemed to be vibrating against the wall. I saw that his cigarette had burned a hole in his sleeve some time during the fight and had ended up butted out on the floor.

We sat against the wall for a long time, bleeding and breathing and wondering how the fuck we got to that point. Or at least I was. I couldn’t speak for him.

“I don’t want to do this anymore.”

A glimmer of hope struck me. I thought he meant the drugs, the heroin, the fucking mind control that had him even thinking strangling me would be a good idea.

But when he got up and headed for the door, I realized that I wasn’t even close to being right.

The door slammed behind him.

…

“What the fuck happened to you?!”

Logan was pretty pissed off to see me in such bad shape, especially when I shrugged like it was nothing.

“I’m not going to touch you until you tell me what happened.”

There was a joke in there somewhere, but he was fuming, so I decided against it. “I got mugged.”

“What? Really?”

“Yeah. Bunch of guys. Beat the crap out of me.”

“Obviously,” Stephanie said, groaning as she picked up a piece of the crib she and Carlos were currently trying to assemble. I had kind of just walked in on their fun with blood all over my face. “And here I thought you were a big tough man.”

“These were big tougher men.” No they weren’t. It was James, and James didn’t strike me as all that tough, but I’d had a habit of underestimating him in the past.

“God, look at you. And your neck! Did one of them try to choke you? You could have died! Don’t you carry any mace or something?”

“Mace is for girls,” I responded, then after a look from Stephanie, “Girls who… can’t punch my lights out.”

“I like him Carlos. Let’s keep him.” She was definitely Carlos’ wife.

Logan began disinfecting my wounds and I flinched. “Did you seriously catch a cab looking like this? I would have been afraid you were a serial killer or something.”

“It’s my blood. Serial killers don’t hurt themselves. At least I don’t think so.”

“Did you pay any attention in that criminal justice seminar we had to go to in high school?”

“It was a requirement, right?”

“Right.”

“Yeah, so no.”

“Kendall…” Logan scolded.

“Hope you gave ‘em a few licks of your own at least,” Carlos said with a grin. It amazed me how Carlos bounced back from binge drinking. “Wow, why is this thing so hard to put together?”

“I did.”

“Well, Logan, honey, patch him up a little. I’ll make him something to eat. Are you hungry?” Stephanie cooed, going into her preemptive “mommy-mode.”

“Not really. All I’ve been tasting is blood.”

“How about a little hot chocolate then? Warm you up a little. You’re shaking.”

I was? I was. I looked down at my hands and damn, they were definitely shaking. I supposed the adrenaline, even after that amount of time still hadn’t gone away completely. I nodded so no one would ask any questions.

“Wow, they really did a number on you.” Logan said, arching his eyebrows worriedly to where they creased his forehead. I found myself wondering if those wrinkles had always been there. “Poor thing.”

Logan worked at mending my wounds and it made me feel a little warmer, a little less hollow. He’d always been my best friend, and suddenly I was struck with a complete sense of longing and loneliness and wanting him to never leave and always be my right hand man. He was just such a good person. To have someone that amazing look up to me… it was a gift.

“There we go,” he said. “Good as new. Well, almost.”

I smiled at him and fought the urge to throw my arms around him and spill my guts. “Thanks.”

“Anytime, man. You know I love you.”

He did. It was a love that was genuine, not sexual. Though, given, I’d thought about it when I first started to figure out that I preferred stubble and a strong jaw over the plump pretty lips of a woman. But there was something about Logan that made him off limits. I mean, not just the fact that he was straight, of course, but that he was just too close, too much of a comfort, to risk fucking it up. And when I looked at him through the eyes of trust, admiration, caring, brotherhood, he looked different. Better, really. But different. It was kind of like that with Carlos, but not really. I guess I never really could take him seriously, and he never really wanted to be, so we just remained good friends. I wondered how they saw me. How James saw me.

I hated it. I hated that James couldn’t be a part of it.

Stephanie came waddling in with a mug of hot chocolate for me and I smiled at her, even though it hurt my face all over. It was true what everyone said about pregnant women. They really did glow. I took the mug and drank heartily, even though it scalded my tongue pretty heftily. I considered it my punishment for lying to them when they were all trying to help. I didn’t want to lie, but I had to lie about getting mugged to cover up the fact that I had sought out James alone. Carlos probably wouldn’t have spoken to me ever again if he’d known that.

“How’s your face?” she asked.

“Ugly, as always,” Carlos laughed, then went back to cursing at the crib because it just wouldn’t go together.

“I think you’ll be okay,” Logan said. “I couldn’t find anything broken, but we may want to go to the ER just to get your neck checked out. It’s pretty bad.”

“I’ll be fine. I’ve got Dr.Logan to take care of me.”

Logan made a face. “You know, I didn’t come to L.A. to just keep you out of trouble.”

“Yes, you did,” Carlos and I answered simultaneously.

“You love it and you know it,” I finished.

“Carlos, why don’t you put that down for a minute and help me in the kitchen?” Stephanie said, then turned to me and Logan. “Need my big strong man to get pots and pans down for me.” And she laughed, because we all knew she was probably ten times tougher than Carlos, but liked to give him the ego boost. And the baby belly had the tendency to get in the way, I supposed.

Carlos finally came strolling out of the room with the mobile somehow tangled around his neck and hanging off his shoulder and two splintered pieces of crib in his hands.

“Baby? I think I broke it.”

It was then I knew that Stephanie was perfect for Carlos. Because she laughed. She held that swollen gut of hers and just laughed and laughed. And Logan and I did too, until I started wailing about how my face hurt and Carlos decided to laugh at me.  
Maybe I was looking for something in James that wasn’t there anymore. Because it seemed like before I’d come across him again, life was trying to be a little better. But it had taken a turn for the worst. Still, I didn’t know if it would have been worse or better if I hadn’t seen him again, because knowing he was alive was a relief, and seeing him was almost a dream. Just because he wasn’t who he used to be didn’t mean I didn’t care for him. So it was hard for me to deny myself of wanting to help him. The child inside of me wanted to believe that I could fix him and everything would be okay, that he really did want to see me.  
Logan put his arm around my shoulder in good humor. I stared at my almost empty hot chocolate mug, leaned my head against his. His laughter started to die a little bit. I just needed the moment.

…

I ended up falling asleep on Carlos’ couch, and when I stirred, I could hear people talking in hushed voices and smell dinner cooking.

“You know how Carlos is, Logan. He’ll be fine. Just give him a little time.”

“Stephanie, I’m not really worried about how he’s taking it. I’m more worried about Kendall. He’s… he’s been weird since he got back. Something’s off.”

“You don’t think he’s on drugs too do you?”

“No. It’s not the same. It’s just… I’m worried about him. Did you see that scar in his hairline? And how clingy he was with me? He hasn’t acted this strange since… well… his dad walked out. Think I should talk to his mom?”

“Logan, you need to trust what he’s capable of. Kendall’s a big boy. He can handle himself—“

I made a bit more noise than I usually would to wake up to signal the end of their conversation. My body ached with every movement, and I could still feel James’ hands on my throat.

“Oh, you up?” Logan asked with that nervous chuckle that meant he was hiding something. “Hungry? Steph’s making dinner.”

“Mm,” I responded half-heartedly. “Where’s Carlos?”

I was feeling just a touch betrayed that Logan would talk about me behind my back, but I knew it was because he was worried.

“He made a run to the store. We’re out of milk and he wants to make chocolate malts for everyone. Says it cures all that ails. I certainly hope he’ll choose medicine over chocolate for our baby.”

“I’m sure he will,” I said, and I meant it. “He’ll be a great dad.”

“God, look at you. Your face is all swollen,” Stephanie said. “Want a steak for that eye?”

“It’s fine. A little late to try and get rid of this swelling.” My voice still sounded weird in my throat. James had done a hell of a number on me.

“Well, don’t go walking around L.A. alone, okay? Don’t want you getting anymore hurt,” Stephanie said.

“I can handle a little pain, Stephanie. But thanks.”

“Well, you’ve got a pretty face. Don’t go messing that up, okay? We need to get you a lady somehow, don’t we?”

I smiled. “I don’t really know if any ladies would be interested in me. I think we’ve been through this.”

“Alright, alright. Go sit.”

“He’s not… still mad at me, is he?”

“Who?”

“Carlos. Because of James.” I don’t know why I asked. Maybe my guilt was too strong.

“Kendall, honestly, I don’t think he remembers being mad at you. He was pretty drunk.”

“But he remembers James.”

“Yeah.”

“So he’s probably mad.”

“Kendall,” Logan said. “It’s not worth it. James… he’s… well, Kendall, he’s gone. I don’t think we’ll be seeing him again anytime soon.”

I wanted to punch Logan. But I’d gotten my fair share of punching for the day. He’d given up on James awfully fast.

Then again, maybe I should have too.

But I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.


	10. Shut Your Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Future!Fic. Kendall returns to L.A. six years after Big Time Rush disbanded. James has been missing for years. Imagine how things change when James reappears in his life. And he needs help.

**Title:** Shut Your Eyes  
 **Authors:**  [](http://goten0040.livejournal.com/profile)[ **goten0040**](http://goten0040.livejournal.com/)   and [](http://garnetice.livejournal.com/profile)[ **garnetice**](http://garnetice.livejournal.com/)   
 **Chapter:** 10  
 **Rating:** M  
 **Ship(s):** Kendall/James, Carlos/Stephanie, maybe more.  
 **Summary:** Future!Fic. Kendall returns to L.A. six years after Big Time Rush disbanded. James has been missing for years. Imagine how things change when James reappears in his life. And he needs help.  
 **Previous Chapters:**[1](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/852.html#cutid1), [2](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1274.html), [3](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1511.html#cutid1), [4](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1554.html#cutid1), [5](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1996.html#cutid1), [6](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2234.html), [7](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2308.html#cutid1), [8](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2649.html), [9](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2935.html#cutid1)

  
I was absolutely miserable, which was pretty much par for the course.

I guess, in a way, I felt like everything was my fault. I’d backed out of hockey because I was terrified someone would find out my secret and decide America’s first openly gay hockey player was a prime mark for a hate crime. I was moping about losing the shape and the feel of being in the same room as my best friends, of nothing feeling the way it used to- when I was the one who’d dumped Big Time Rush and run off back home like a spoiled child. And I was mourning the death of the James Diamond I’d always known so hard because…god, because maybe if I hadn’t gone away, he never would’ve changed.

I knew it was idiotic. People always changed, no matter how hard we tried to make them stay the same. They weren’t photographs; static, stagnant memories. And you could never know every aspect of their psyche, even if you spent a hundred million years studying them.

But knowing something doesn’t always equate to accepting it.

I knew what Logan or Carlos, or even the old James would say. Breaking up the band had been important because it had finally been my turn to pursue my big childhood dream. Except, I hadn’t really gone to Minnesota to play hockey. It was a benefit, and I’d intended to do it since I was about three and got my first pair of skates, but man, I really had been _running away_.

I’d been wrecked about what had gone down between Jo and me, and all the realizations hanging like rainclouds over my head. I was acting like a jerk left and right. Things were moving too quickly, what with James talking about solos and Carlos dipping his feet into acting and Logan toying with the idea of med school. There was a point when I stopped and thought, ‘I’m losing all my friends. Maybe I’m alienating them. Maybe I’m just not doing enough to stop them as they slip through my fingers.’

But I realized that everyone goes eventually. If people don’t want to stay, you can’t make them.

So I decided to be the one who left.

I told myself that I just wanted clarity, and this huge part of me had insisted that getting away from the same people I’d known my entire life was the way to get it.

That had backfired. Big time.

See what I did there? Ha.

I was lying in my bed, listening to the nonstop traffic of Greater Los Angeles when my phone rang. It wasn’t quite noon, and one of my big resolutions now that I’d quit- well, everything that had to do with living and functioning like a normal human being- was to sleep in ‘til one. Only my biological clock wasn’t primed to sleep that late, and hadn’t been since high school, before I’d joined a busybusybusy boy band.

I sighed and made the executive decision that if I didn’t answer, I’d have to check my voicemail, which I absolutely loathed doing.

“Logan? What?” I asked flatly.

“You sound like crap.”

“Thanks,” I dragged out the ‘s’ sound into a hiss.

“So like, some sunshine would probably be good for you.”

Doubtfully, I squinted against the sunlight streaming in my window and wished I hadn’t torn down the dusty blinds in the midst of my cleaning fit the previous night.    


“Are you asking me to go out?”   


“Yes,” he practically chirped,    


“Dude, Logan. I’m seriously not up to it today.”   


“Kendall,” he drew out my name, “C’mon.”   


“Um,” I frowned at my phone, “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”   


I could imagine the little furrow growing between his eyebrows when he whined, “We’re on vacation, goddamnit. We’re going to do vacation-y things.”

“Logie, did you just _swear_?”

“Shut up, asshole.”

“And again with the-“

“I mean it, Kendall. We are going to relax if it _kills_ us.”

“My answer’s still no.”

“I must be hearing things.”   


“What?”   


“I must be hearing things, because I thought I heard you say no, and I’m not accepting no for an answer. I did not drag you out of your igloo so you could mope around in your moth bitten old bachelor’s pad for a month.”   


I was offended, “There aren’t any moths.”   


“Look, I get that you’re all down about- James,” his voice pitched higher at the end, “But like, we’re going to tackle that together. There’s nothing we can do until we track him down. Carlos has got a PI all over that. So come on, you…me…”   


Logan began to say something else when I heard, “Oh, give me the damn phone!”   


There was the sound of a scuffle on the other end of the line.    


“Katie?” I asked tentatively.    


“You’re going with us,” my little sister said firmly.    


“Katie-“   


“You. Are. Going. With us. Don’t make me repeat myself,” she threatened. My little sister had grown up _terrifying_.    


“Right,” I agreed. Because otherwise I was reasonably certain they’d never find my body.    


We drove down the highway with loud pop music blaring in Katie’s custom convertible. Most twenty two year olds drove broken down junkers, but not my sister, man. We took the auto ferry down to Balboa, and I was the first one out of the car and up on deck, leaning over the railing, inhaling salt spray and listening to the high pitched voices of too many kids. I kind of wanted to tell their parents to shut them up, but I knew I was being a total downer and made the executive decision to keep my mouth shut. Plus Katie, who had the maternal instinct of a praying mantis, kept them away with her scary force field of doom and gloom.

When we got off the ferry, we began to wander aimlessly, weaving amongst clapboard houses painted pastel, in varying stages of decay from the constant onslaught of wind and surf and unrelenting California sunshine. Some were home to businesses; kitschy boutiques and dental offices and pretty little restaurants that looked like they belonged in a painting.

Logan kept up a steady stream of chatter, entertaining Katie with tales of Floridian plastic surgery gone very awry. Both of them kept looking at me for input, but I didn’t really have anything to say about lopsided fake boobs. Or really any boobs.

Eventually they dragged me to the Fun Zone, hoping bumper cars and Ferris Wheels would break me out of my funk.

I’m not going to lie. It kind of did.

At the top of the Ferris Wheel, I took a deep breath and glanced around. I could see everything, all of Newport Harbor stretched out in front of me. For the first time in days, I felt a little calmer. Like maybe I didn’t have to fix all the world’s problems right that damn second. Katie cast me a knowing look, and Logan started spouting off facts about the Island that he probably thought were interesting, and I just breathed it all in.

By the time we decided on a place to eat lunch, and I was laughing and joking and helping Katie inappropriately hit on Logan, which she seemed to find hilarious. Every time she did it, he turned an increasingly brighter shade of red.

“So next weekend,” he said, ignoring Katie’s latest attempt to slide her hand up his thigh, even though his cheeks already resembled a tomato, “I was thinking Sea World.”

“Sea World? Seriously?”

“I like Shamu,” he protested.

Katie frowned, withdrawing her hand, “Shamu died, didn’t he?”

“Shamu never dies,” Logan squeaked, aghast, “He’s _eternal_.”

“No, I’m pretty sure he died,” she grinned and began to chew on a breadstick.

“She’s evil,” Logan hissed at me.

I rolled my eyes and high fived Katie under the table. The last thing I wanted to do was drag Logan around a theme park so he could tell me about the feeding habits of otters and the mating habits of beluga whales.

“Maybe we should go to Disneyland instead.”

“You know you don’t have to pack so much- _vacationing_ into our vacation,” I told him mildy, tossing an oyster cracker at his face.

He blocked it, barely, “We’re not going to be here forever, you know. And I don’t get too many days off from work. I’d like to make the most of it, if that’s alright with you?”

I pursed my lips and tried my best to look extremely thoughtful, retaliating, “I bet _Camille_ would go with you to Disneyland. Maybe she’ll even hold your hand on the Matterhorn!”

Immediately, Logan grabbed my bag of oyster crackers and dumped the whole thing over my head.

“You kind of deserved that,” Katie advised, now occupied with her BlackBerry.

“Probably,” I shrugged, picking a cracker out of my shirt and popping it into my mouth.

“We’re going to Disneyland,” Logan told me, eyes steely, “And that’s final.”

“Okay,” I tapped my fingers on the table, “But I will _not_ be holding your hand on the Matterhorn.”

Dryly, he replied, “Somehow I think I’ll survive.”  
  
\---  
  
[Chapter Eleven](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/3342.html#cutid1)  
  
 

 


	11. Shut Your Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Future!Fic. Kendall returns to L.A. six years after Big Time Rush disbanded. James has been missing for years. Imagine how things change when James reappears in his life. And he needs help.

**Title:** Shut Your Eyes  
 **Authors:**  [](http://goten0040.livejournal.com/profile)[ **goten0040**](http://goten0040.livejournal.com/)   and [](http://garnetice.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://garnetice.livejournal.com/) **garnetice**    
 **Chapter:** 11  
 **Rating:** M  
 **Ship(s):** Kendall/James, Carlos/Stephanie, maybe more.  
 **Summary:** Future!Fic. Kendall returns to L.A. six years after Big Time Rush disbanded. James has been missing for years. Imagine how things change when James reappears in his life. And he needs help.

 Chapter Eleven

“So tell me something.”

Katie and I had decided to spend the rest of the evening walking on the beach, and she was even holding my hand as the sun began to set. Logan had gotten a call on his phone – we both thought it might have been from Camille – and had to jet off to some event that we were clearly not invited to. So he grabbed a taxi and it was just us. But it was okay, because it had been a long time since I had really talked to my baby sister, and she had done a pretty good job of cheering me up.

“Shoot.”

“What really happened to your face?”

Then again, her bluntness could be pretty rough.

“What?”

“Your face. You know, that ugly thing on the front of your head? What happened to it?”

The bruises hadn’t really faded from where James’ fists had landed on my face and neck. But I had fed her the same excuse I’d fed everyone else, and I thought that would have been the end of it. Then again, it was Katie. I nudged her. “I told you. I got mugged.”

“I know that’s what you told me, but I asked you what really happened.” She swung her heels absently in her hand as the surf collided with her delicate ankles, the wind blowing her chestnut hair every which way. “I know you, bro. You don’t get mugged and come back looking like that. I don’t care if it’s Hells Angels doing it.”

I put my arm around her shoulders and pulled her in close, sighing. “Why do you have to be so observant? Do I have to talk about this?”

“Yes. You do. So spill.”

“Well, promise not to tell.”

“I’m your sister, Kendall. I’m way better at keeping secrets than you, too.”

“Promise.”

“Okay, I promise.”

We strolled over to a small, somewhat shaded alcove that had been trampled through the day’s events, but it was comfortably cool and a perfect little spot to nestle in.

“I.... Well… James did it. James beat me up.”

“James? Really? You got beat up by… by that princess?”

I gave her a flat look. “I know how observant you are, and I’m positive you’ve already gotten Logan to spill that James isn’t such a princess anymore.”

The corners of her mouth turned down slightly and she nodded. “Yeah. I heard. Why did you lie to Logan and Carlos?”

“Because they didn’t know I found him again. I didn’t want them to. I mean… I wanted to try to fix him… before they saw him again.”

“That’s just like you, big brother. Trying to save the world in twenty-four hours. You’re not Jack Bauer you know.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Jack Bauer’d be a much more badass brother.”

“Shut up.”

She chuckled. “So James beat you up, huh? Hope you got a few good hits in.”

“Yeah. I don’t really know what happened. We both just… flew into this… rage. I think I had the upper hand until he got his hands around my neck.”

Katie drew her knees up, wiggling her toes in the sand and gazing off into the sunset. “Well, James is messed up, Kendall. You don’t need to get into stuff like that. I watched that shit destroy one of my clients. I had to drop him. I just couldn’t watch him do it anymore.”

“Yeah, you told me about that awhile back. I thought you were even going to cry.”

“Pffft, I don’t cry.”

“I know.”

“But, bro, he tried to choke you. That’s not good. That’s bad. That’s scary bad.” Katie wasn’t one to get scared, but looking at her at that moment, I could tell that she was genuinely worried about my life. God… worried about my life? It was a little weird to think I’d allowed myself to fall into such a bad situation that people had to do that.

“Yeah, I know. Something just… snapped.”

“He’s not stable. He’s not stable at all.”

I nodded, lost for words. I was a little irritated. She was reminding me all over again why I was in a funk in the first place.

“So why are you doing it? Why are you trying to save him?”

“Are you kidding? Katie, he’s my best friend. I love him. Of course I’m going to try.”

“But from what I’ve heard, he’s not exactly the James Diamond you know and love.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s not still in there!” I argued, feeling my defenses flying up.

“Woaaah, calm down there, brother. I’m not saying you’re wrong. I’m just saying… to be careful. For mom’s sake at least. You’re lucky she didn’t see you like this. She’d be freaking the fuck out.”

“She always does,” I sighed. “Even when I get beat up at hockey games, she always thinks I’m dying.”

“You love it.”

“I do.”

Katie leaned her head into the crook of my neck. “Man… it’s been way too long since I last saw you. You know that?”

“Yeah, I do. I missed you.”

“Don’t get all sappy.”

“You started it.”

Katie laced her fingers with mine, and suddenly I felt like I was holding her hand as a child again, after Dad had left. She had leaned on me for support then, and grown to be a stronger pillar than I ever thought I could be. Yet, here she was, still leaning on me, a young woman, just wanting to be with her brother.

“I have another question.” She pulled away and looked me in the eye, sitting cross-legged in the sand. “It’s a big one. Think you can handle it?”

I wanted to say no. “You’re not asking me to give my blessing for you to get married are you?”

“What? No. Fuck that. Now, seriously.”

“Okay, okay. Go ahead.”

“Kendall…” her voice dropped as if we were being overheard. “…Are you gay?”

My jaw nearly dropped off its hinges. My head spun violently with the revelation that, fuck yes, Katie was observant. I blinked a few times, trying to digest the question and calm my suddenly quaking nerves in order to answer her.

“Wh-why do you ask?”

“Look, I know you probably haven’t told anyone, not even Mom. And I know she’d support you and whatever, but I get why you didn’t. I could be totally off-base, but I don’t think so.”

I swallowed thickly, feeling nauseous. “Jo… never said anything to you, did she?”

Katie shook her head. “No. When I asked why you guys broke up back then, all she said was that it was complicated and walked away. So, really. Are you gay?”

“…” I really, really didn’t want to answer her. But it was Katie. My baby sister. My all-knowing baby sister. My all-knowing, crazily clever, violent, baby sister. “Yes.”

“Knew it,” she said, and she sounded so proud that I wanted to bury myself in the sand and never come back out.

“Why does it matter?” I groaned into my hand, smashing it into my reddened face.

“I don’t think it really does matter. I was just curious.” Something told me she wasn’t telling the whole truth, but I was too embarrassed to pry. I guess, deep down, I felt a little better though, knowing someone else besides Jo Taylor knew. “So did you tell Jo? Is that what happened?”

“What’s with the Q&A? You got what you wanted, can’t you just let me have a little privacy?” I was beginning to feel like I was being interviewed.

“Okay, okay.” Katie went back to lying on me, her hair flying back with the wind and tickling my neck. “But listen, okay? I know you want to save the world, but… I don’t know. Drugs are hardcore, Kendall. Don’t get too caught up. You can’t save everyone.”

“Yeah, but it’s _James_ , Katie.” And that was just it. It _was_ James. That was why I absolutely, positively, couldn’t let it go. And it wasn’t because I was gay, and it wasn’t because I wanted to be a hero, it was because it was James. This wasn’t just some junkie on the street. It was the boy I grew up with, played hockey with, watched laugh, cry, dance, sing, and really do everything. We’d experienced everything together. And now he’d gone down a completely different path and I was left dumbfounded, wondering how the hell he got there.

How the hell we all got to where we were.

I felt Katie’s hand rub up and down my back. “I know, bro. I know.”

…

When I Katie dropped me off, she put her arms around my neck and held me there for a long time, a comforting, sisterly gesture that left me feeling warm, but a little hollow when she finally let go. I dragged myself back to my apartment and collapsed onto the bed, my hands and feet still dry and gritty from walking in the sand, and my nose stinging with sunburn. The apartment felt enormous and empty and quiet. I briefly thought of going to visit with Carlos or Mom again, but I didn’t really feel like moving after a long day of walking and having fun with Logan and Katie. So I laid there, flat on my mattress, staring at the ceiling and waiting for something to happen.

Nothing did.

So after about an hour of lying there, and maybe one where I drifted off to sleep, I rolled off the mattress and headed to the bathroom to wash the sand off me. I saw the blood stain on the carpet from our fight and tried to ignore it. I saw his clothes lying in a heap on my bathroom floor and I tried to ignore it. I saw the syringe on the floor.

It was unused.

I threw it in the trash and sat on the tub, my head in my hands. It was aching again. How was it possible that I ached for James when he was gone after such a fiasco? Normally someone would be through with a person, right? Maybe I’m a masochist. But I’d like to think that it was because I had failed and I never failed and I had a challenge in front of me that I had to defeat. I don’t know.  
I showered, the water so hot it was almost blistering, especially on my sunburn, but I didn’t care.

Maybe it was time to give up. I probably couldn’t find James anyway, and I didn’t think he’d be coming back around any time soon. Maybe Katie was right. Maybe I couldn’t save the world. I wasn’t Jack Bauer. I was just Kendall Knight. And I hardly knew who I was. The buzzer went off and I trudged over to it.

“Yes?”

“Kendall Knight?”

“Yes, I’m Kendall Knight.”

“Katie Knight sent me. May I come up? She sent a note too.”

When I opened the door, a somewhat thin, young-looking, rockstar type boy stood on the other side. He had a long mane of black hair and eyes that seemed to go on forever. He flashed me a smile full of too-white teeth and leaned in close, his cologne fill my nostrils in an almost intoxicatingly peppery scent.

“Ooh, you’re cuter than I thought you’d be. So how do you want this to go?” He began to mouth at my neck and I gasped, the hairs on the back of my arms standing on end. I knew I was lonely, but damn. I could feel the blood rushing from my head already.

“Woah, woah, woah! Wait a second,” I stammered, pulling away from him.

“What? She didn’t tell you?” He sighed. “Here.” He handed me the note.

Before I opened it, I had figured out what she’d done. Half of me really didn’t want to believe she had the gall to do it, but damn, the rest of me knew she definitely did. It was her way of being nice. Katie had taken advantage of learning my sexuality and decided to send me a male escort. Oh God. I looked at the note.

_Hey, bro. Cheer up. Thought you might be lonely. Enjoy. XoXo, Katie._

“Damn it, Katie.” I grumbled.

Well… I was lonely. And he smelled amazing. And he was… well, he was there.

I slept with him.

I just figured I needed it. Maybe it would take my mind off James.

But it didn’t. Actually, all it did was exacerbate my thoughts.


	12. Shut Your Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Future!Fic. Kendall returns to L.A. six years after Big Time Rush disbanded. James has been missing for years. Imagine how things change when James reappears in his life. And he needs help.

**Title:** Shut Your Eyes  
 **Authors:**  [](http://goten0040.livejournal.com/profile)[ **goten0040**](http://goten0040.livejournal.com/)   and [](http://garnetice.livejournal.com/profile)[ **garnetice**](http://garnetice.livejournal.com/)    
 **Chapter:** 12  
 **Rating:** M  
 **Ship(s):** Kendall/James, Carlos/Stephanie, maybe more.  
 **Summary:** Future!Fic. Kendall returns to L.A. six years after Big Time Rush disbanded. James has been missing for years. Imagine how things change when James reappears in his life. And he needs help.  
 **Previous Chapters:**[1](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/852.html#cutid1), [2](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1274.html), [3](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1511.html#cutid1), [4](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1554.html#cutid1), [5](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1996.html#cutid1), [6](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2234.html), [7](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2308.html#cutid1), [8](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2649.html), [9](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2935.html#cutid1), [10](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/3210.html), [11](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/3342.html#cutid1)  
  


Call me nature boy, but Disneyland kind of lost its shine after the first few visits. 

I never had a huge appreciation for roller coasters in the first place; I mean, the whole thing seems kind of cyclical. It’s a controlled thrill, not an honest to god rush, like driving a lambo down the Pacific Coast Highway at top speed, or racing down the ice with one goal in mind. You trace the same track, over and over…and over. But the way I figure, if you’re gonna ride, you either go big or go home. 

The first time I visited the Magic Kingdom was right after we moved to California, when Katie was ten. She begged and pleaded and used her awful, huge puppy eyes to persuade me to do her bidding, and finally she’d roped me, mom, and the guys into visiting the House of Mouse. 

Actually, it’d been kind of a nice reminder that she was still a kid, somewhere inside her overly mature little brain. 

Anyway, I remember sitting on Space Mountain, surrounded by the glow of artificial planets and what might’ve passed for total darkness if I’d been five, thinking ‘this is it?’. Carlos had suggested we go to Six Flags, and at that moment I’d realized how much better it would’ve been. 

Right up until Katie laughed. 

And then I thought maybe anything that could get my little sister to grin that big was kind of worth the entrance fee.

Eventually, though, Katie grew up, as little girls are wont to do. Now she had spike heels and her own shiny sports car, and she couldn’t even spare the day off to hit up an amusement park with her big brother. I didn’t resent her for it. Mostly. 

Okay, being stuck in a car with Camille and Logan for forty five minutes was kind of akin to hell. Katie would have lightened the mood. Or at least given me something to hold onto in the back seat. Camille was a _terrible_ driver. 

Like, until the moment I stepped foot in her classy little ice blue Audi, I hadn’t known the meaning of road rage. Not really. Not until I was clutching on to the grab handle above the left rear window for dear life as the car jerked from lane to lane at upwards of ninety miles an hour. Logan was chanting something that sounded suspiciously like ‘mommy’ as we swerved, narrowly managing to escape causing a sixty car pileup, and Camille was screaming at the top of her lungs, “Get the _fuck_ out of my way, or I will be _up your ass_ like a gay man on _prom night_.” 

It was one of her kinder insults, so I tried not to take offense. 

I know I just mentioned rushes, but she was taking it to extremes. I mean, there’s exhilaration and there’s impending doom. 

Which is why I almost missed it when she threw in conversationally, “Hey Kendall, did I mention Jo’s meeting us?”

Almost, as in, not at all. 

“She what?”

“I told her we were going to see Mickey and Minnie and she was all for it. She hasn’t been to Disneyland in _forever_ , being such a big shot and all.”

“You’re a big shot and _all,_ ” I nearly squeaked as we scraped by an eighteen wheeler, “And didn’t you say you went with your family like- last year?”

My voice pitched up at the end, and I was not in the least ashamed. Ending up a greasy spot on the road halfway to Anaheim wasn’t how I wanted to meet my maker. 

“I’m small fries,” Camille replied with a ‘tsk’ noise, “Jo’s nationally recognized.”   
  
“Is-“ the car shook violently, “Is her boyfriend coming?”

I could see Camille raise an eyebrow at me in the rearview mirror before she turned to shout something like ‘cuntmuffin’ at a passing sedan, “Why? _Jealous_?”

Actually, I was sort of hoping he’d act as a buffer. Talking with Jo on the phone was one thing, but interacting in person might have been more than I was ready to handle. 

“He’s totally jealous,” Logan managed in what was supposed to have been a light manner, but came off sounding strained and terrified. 

I reached across the car and smacked him across the head, “The amount of how much you’re Not Helping is tremendous.”

He glared at me before getting distracted by our proximity to a moped. 

“Learn how to fucking drive, douchewaffle!” Camille screamed, and I slunk low into my seat. 

\---

Jo was not alone. God must have liked me today.    
  
“I can’t believe I keep skipping out on work to hang with you dorks,” Katie crossed her arms, “If I get fired, I expect you all to support me financially.”

“Um. I’m not sure if we can afford that,” I nibbled on my lower lip and looked from Carlos to Carlos’s sneakers to Jo’s sensible running shoes to Katie’s haute couture flip flops, and then back to my sister’s eyes. I’d nodded a hello at the girl, of course, but I had this great plan. 

It involved avoiding eye contact like the plague. 

“Then you better make sure I don’t get fired. Hey, Carlos, don’t you need a new agent?”

“Nice try kid,” Carlos laughed, and just his presence took off the tense edge of standing across from my ex girlfriend for the first time in years. 

“Fine,” she pursed her lips, but I knew the gleam in my little sister’s eye meant she wasn’t planning on giving up the gambit quite yet. 

We paid for our tickets and burst through the gates like every other slightly dysfunctional family in the place, occupied by the familiar logos and nicely planted beds of flowers welcoming us in. We made our way past the red choo choo train and towards Cinderella’s castle, the ivory turrets and blue topped spires looking oddly majestic in the sunlight. You know, for something that was built in the fifties. 

“Katie and I are going to ride the teacups!” Carlos announced, obviously hoping it was a way of appeasing her. 

“I’m not ten anymore, Carlos.” 

Carlos pouted. Then he brightened, “Want to hop in someone else’s teacup and see if we can spin ‘em fast enough to make them puke?”

Katie considered it, a smile blossoming over her lips, the wry twist a familiar mirror of my mom’s, “Yeah, okay.”

They ran off together, and then there were four. 

“Where to first?” Camille clapped her hands together, trying for pep. 

“Kendall said he wanted to hold my hand on the Matterhorn,” Logan sidled up to me, “Does that offer still stand?”

I glanced at Jo out of the corner of my eye and tried to breathe. Yeah. I could do this. I threw an arm around my friend’s shoulders, “For you, Logie? Anything.”

Once we reached the great white mountain, Logan was not nearly so gung ho. Even though the internal workings of the famous bobsled coaster were barely exposed, he stared up at it doubtfully. Like his eyes could x-ray the innards of the manmade mountain, and found something under all that spray painted white snow wanting. 

“I don’t know, guys. That doesn’t look safe.”

“Didn’t you study like, thermodynamic physics or something before med school? It’s perfectly safe,” Camille chided him. 

“Um, it’s not about the construction. It’s about the fact that it was constructed like, fifty years ago.”

“Whiner. Come on,” Camillie took his hand, “Live a little.”

“They,” a cool voice whispered into my ear, “Have not changed a bit.”

My shoulders stiffened, which is kind of a dead giveaway when it comes to pretending to ignore people, and anyway, I didn’t want to _ignore_ Jo. I just…didn’t want to deal with my own guilt, I guess. That kind of thing, it’s easy when you’ve got thousands of miles separating you, or a crew of close friends to back you up. But I wasn’t in Minnesota, and I wasn’t seventeen anymore. I didn’t have the constant comfort of Big Time Rush, of knowing that Carlos and Logan and James would catch me when I inevitably fell. They were still _there_ , but I wasn’t the kind of person who could share my troubles so easily. 

Not anymore. 

“It’s nice, though, isn’t it?”

“It is,” she hummed, and I was finally able to meet her dancing eyes. She didn’t look mad. She didn’t look much of anything, except for happy to be out in the sunshine, even though every other adult who passed us by pointed or whispered excitedly about her presence. I was already used to ignoring the click of camera phones, and we’d only been in the park for ten minutes. 

We followed our friends into line and fell into a somewhat easy conversation about her latest project, an action flick that was out of her comfort zone. 

“Can you believe they want me to do my own stunts? I have the grace of an elephant. I keep trying to tell them it won’t end well.”

“You’ll be fine,” I assured her, and this tight, horrible ball of _something_ in my chest loosened with every word. 

Logan survived the Matterhorn. In fact, everything went pretty well until lunch time, when we stumbled off Pirates of the Caribbean and past the Blue Bayou. Camille and Logan decided to hit it up the restaurant, looking hypnotized by the atmosphere of colorful lanterns strung up in the artificial blue light. They slid into wrought iron chairs and watched the boats from the ride slide past like silent ghosts, already forgetting that they had company. 

They were so in love it was a little ridiculous, but I wasn’t planning to break the news to either of them. 

I was actually kind of worried about where Katie and Carlos had gotten off to, and besides, I wasn’t super hungry. Jo and I agreed to meet up with the lovebirds in an hour, emerging from the darkness of the ride’s caverns out onto the sundrenched path. Right next to the Pirates attraction was the Royal Street Veranda, a little stand in the wall framed by white lattice work and a low pastel blue counter front. They had the best chowder in a bread bowl in all of Disney. 

I vaguely remembered it from coming to the park with my friends at night to watch the fireworks, grabbing a bowl and then sitting on the hoods of random stranger’s cars to chow down. The blue, red, and gold would blossom in the sky, reflecting on my friends’ faces. Carlos would stare like a little boy, in open wonder, and Logan would be off in his own little world, enchanted by the science these explosions in the sky. And James- well. His face always stood out, colors painted across his cheekbones, eyes blissed out. Lips forming a silent ‘ah’. The same way he used to look before a show, really. _Beautiful_. 

Jo and I ordered our bread bowls full of creamy, thick white chowder, chock full of clams. We perched on a nearby bench, digging in, and that’s when things began to go bad. 

I knew it was coming. I recognized the look in her eyes. 

I’d seen it in mine for years now. 

Before Big Time Rush disbanded, I’d worn that look often. Whenever I caught a glimpse of it in the mirror, I’d drive out until the Pacific wouldn’t let me go any further. Sometimes I’d stand there with my feet in the cold water, toes going numb, staring out at the horizon like I could see past the edge of the Earth. Like the world was flat, the way they used to think in the old days of knights and jousting and damsels in distress. I was in this constant state of turmoil back then. Confused about my sexuality, and my future as well. All the signs were there; Logan had gotten into med school and they’d extended the offer for Carlos to join the permanent cast of a television drama, and James, well. His star burned brighter than anyone’s. I was the only one who had nothing, and everything I’d learned up until that moment felt like a vicious lie. 

Sadness is a strange sort of sickness. One minute, you think the world is too damned big and you’re insignificant, you’ll never see enough, have enough, cover enough of its surface, and even then there are galaxies beyond and then-

Other moments it’s all so small, and you’re too big, expanding, growing, devouring everything. 

I didn’t want Jo to look that way, or to feel that way. Suddenly, it was the most important thing in the world. I put down my plastic spoon, swallowed my fear, and asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Hmm? Nothing.”

“Jo,” I warned, not wanting to get into it here, in this place that left little children wide eyed from mechanical magic, but- 

“It’s weird. Being here, with you.”

After a beat, I agreed, “Yeah.”

Because what else was there to say?

“I wish we could be,” she waved her hand vaguely at a couple of rosy cheeked kids, “More innocent, I guess.”

I wished that all the time. Growing up was so much more difficult than anyone had ever told me. I would look at the people I’d depended on all my life for guidance, for support, and sometimes I desperately hoped they couldn’t see how much I hated it; being alive.

Don’t get me wrong. I was never suicidal. I didn’t plan on offing myself with a hockey stick or anything. I just- sometimes I wished I hadn’t been born at all. Because then I wouldn’t have to deal with it all; breathing, living. It just got so hard.

“I want us to be friends,” she continued, “The way we were when we were together. But-“

“You can’t forgive me,” I sighed wearily, the guilt weighing heavy on my shoulders, the same way it had for over ten years, “You know I’m- sorry. So, _so_ sorry.”

“I don’t know if it’s the kind of thing I can forgive you for,” Jo said earnestly, shrugging, “It’s not about how sorry you are. It’s about how much I loved you. And how much it hurt finding out the feeling wasn’t exactly mutual.”

“Jo, I really loved you. I still- love you. Just not…you know.”

“I do know, and Kendall, god, in some ways, I’ve moved past all of this. I don’t like holding grudges, and I know you don’t deserve it. You can’t help what you are. But there’s this part of me that knows I’m never going to move on, and it doesn’t matter whether you deserve it or not,” Jo said, her voice getting a little rough around the edges, like something was caught in her throat, “I’m always going to resent you for it. I can’t move on because there isn’t anybody better. There never has been, and there never will be.”

“I never meant to hurt you.”

“I know, but it doesn’t make a difference. You did,” she glanced away, and in that moment she wasn’t a movie star or a even a friend. From the delicate line of her neck to the curve of her shoulders to the tips of her toes, she was a stranger. And I’d made her that way.

\---

By the time Camille dropped me off later that night, I was exhausted. It was one of those overwhelming, physically and mentally _draining_ days. Which I was pretty sure Disneyland was not supposed to be about. They should’ve put a warning in the pamphlet or something.

I had nothing to show for my trip except for a gigantic, brightly colored lollipop from Main Street USA and my apartment keys, glinting in the barely visible moonlight. I was reasonably certain I didn’t even have my dignity left; must’ve dropped it somewhere in the French Quarter.

And then, because my initial presumption that God liked me today hadn’t been completely shattered, I saw James waiting on my stoop. Or he would’ve been, if I had a stoop, instead of a glass door with burnished gold nameplates and tiny, worn buttons to buzz up. Instead, he was lounging on the curb, against a lamplight pooling gold on the sidewalk, looking at me with something that resembled an apology.

I sighed and held the lollipop out to James, my expression hard. And without saying a word, he took it, my colorful peace offering. 

It didn’t mean we’d forgiven each other for- well, for anything at all. Just that we were both ready to try again, I guess. I jingled my keys, catching the faded yellow light of the streetlamp, and he nodded, ready to follow me inside. 

“You have a cigarette?” I asked abruptly, and he nodded again, obviously surprised, “Good. Let’s go to the roof.”

So we did. 

It was quiet on top of my building, and ridiculously dirty. The landlord did a decent job of making sure the façade of the place stayed relatively clean, but up here, all bets were off. I circled around the grime a few minutes, like a dog looking for a comfortable spot. Eventually I realized there was no place that anyone could exactly call sanitary, and plopped down in the midst of it. 

And then, because I’m a moron, I said, “I slept with an escort last week.”

James blinked, and fumbled out his carton of Reds, pulling out two. He handed me one, and I slipped it between my lips, waiting patiently as he lit up his own. He kneeled down and kissed the end of my cigarette with his, and like a distant memory, I inhaled, breathing in smoke and ash and _James._

Truth was, I’d wanted to tell someone about what had happened all day. Maybe even Jo. I’d wanted her outrage, and then I could justify it all to myself out loud, in the presence of another human being. Say something cliché, like, “I’m a man, I have needs.” 

But I knew that it would make me sound like a complete and total idiot, and the last thing Jo needed to be reminded of was how stupid I am. She knew all about it, firsthand. 

James had no qualms about the filth, and sat with ease. He leaned back, the palms of his hands flat against the surface of the gritty concrete. He crossed his ankles over one another and tilted his head towards the starless night. 

“If there’s one thing I’ve figured out in the past few years, it’s that everyone has vices. For some people its soap operas and crappy dime novels. For others its heroin or cocaine or…” he grinned, but the expression was less happy and more feral, grim, “ _Hookers_. Is that how you roll, Kendall?”

He tapped the end of his cigarette so that embers flaked away, shooting his own miniature stars in the dark night, continuing, “Do you use sex to get over your problems?”

Even the suggestion made me angry. 

I wanted to deny it, to say that I wasn’t addicted to sex, because that much was true. I didn’t get laid nearly often enough to be addicted. But what was also true, what James had nailed right on the head, was that I had a habit of falling into bed with people. 

Questionable acquaintances, guys I met at bars. 

_ Escorts _ . 

It was weird how Katie had somehow instinctively known that I’d prefer the company of a discrete lover, of someone that made confidentiality a profession rather than some gay friend from her agency. It wasn’t like she didn’t have a zillion. Katie had more contacts that anyone I knew, with the exception of Carlos. I think he’s the one who taught her the importance of networking. 

My addiction, my vice, then, was not the actual act, which was fun enough, but the part afterwards. Lying in bed and feeling the warm glow of a body beside me. Closing my eyes tight and pretending it was someone who wouldn’t leave. 

Except, of course, it was all make believe. 

In real life, I was too scared to ever give someone that much power. I really was addicted, if you will, to the fantasy. And if I didn’t say it out loud, well, did that really make me any better than James? What was it they said in Alcoholics Anonymous meetings? The first step is always denial? 

“Maybe,” I shrugged, not willing to give an inch for fear he’d take a mile.

He cast me that wolfish, almost unhappy grin of his, and said mockingly, “Maybe. Maybe we shouldn’t talk about it, if it makes you uncomfortable.”

I saw the warning for what it was, and I was just so damned tired.

“For tonight,” I agreed, and I saw the almost imperceptible way his shoulders relaxed.

That was it then. It would be me and him and Greater Los Angeles spread out before us, the city bright and quiet, the sky dark and empty. Like we were the last two people on Earth. I took a long drag on my cigarette.

Decent company and silence, for one night only.   
  
I could handle that.  
  
\---  
  
[Chapter Thirteen](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/3896.html#cutid1)

 


	13. Shut Your Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Future!Fic. Kendall returns to L.A. six years after Big Time Rush disbanded. James has been missing for years. Imagine how things change when James reappears in his life. And he needs help.

**Title:** Shut Your Eyes  
 **Authors:**  [](http://goten0040.livejournal.com/profile)[ **goten0040**](http://goten0040.livejournal.com/)   and [](http://garnetice.livejournal.com/profile)[ **garnetice**](http://garnetice.livejournal.com/)   
 **Chapter:** 13  
 **Rating:** M  
 **Ship(s):** Kendall/James, Carlos/Stephanie, maybe more.  
 **Summary:** Future!Fic. Kendall returns to L.A. six years after Big Time Rush disbanded. James has been missing for years. Imagine how things change when James reappears in his life. And he needs help.

Chapter Thirteen

James and I stayed on the roof for what seemed like an eternity. Just staring up at the sky, pretending there were stars to see, though the light pollution from the city made sure there wasn’t a speck in the sky. My cigarette burned down to the filter and I ended up flicking it away, the tiny glowing ember dying after a few minutes.

James sighed after a long time. “Man, I’m too down.”

“You want some coffee?” I asked.

James gave a humorless chuckle. “Coffee… wow.”

I shook my head. I was sure James had other vices to get him going besides coffee. “So when’s the last time you shot up?” It didn’t come out as bitter as I expected.

I don’t know what happened. Maybe James gave me a massive concussion when we fought. Maybe I was sick and tired of being around my friends that were doing so well, and being reminded all the fucking time how much I’d messed up. But either way, I found my apathy to his drug use growing. There was a part of my mind saying _Come On. It’s just James. Not your problem._ And I was starting to listen. I guess I wasn’t going to stick to my rule of not talking about uncomfortable things after all. And as much as I didn’t want to answer any questions, I couldn’t stop myself from asking and opening up the proverbial can of worms.

“I’m on the nod,” he replied casually. I got some more in my pocket. I’m guessing you’re gonna bitch now?”

“Nope.”

“Oh.” James sounded a little surprised, like maybe there wasn't going to be another fist fight after all.

I stretched. “So I’m curious.”

“About what?”

“What’s it like? What makes this shit so damn special?”

“What, smack?”

“Any of it. Smack, coke, meth, whatever. What makes it so damn special? I’m honestly just curious.”

James thought for a long time, staring out at the L.A. horizon, his eyes far almost looking for the right words in the dark, smoggy skyline. Then, with finality, he said:

“It’s an easy rush. You don’t have to work for it or stumble or anything. You just use it and viola. You get what you want. It’s not like fame, which I had to do everything I could to get it. It’s not like sex, where I may have to lie or brag or something just to get it. I can be myself, and I can feel it. I don’t need anyone else’s approval. Just mine.”

When he put it like that, it actually made sense to me. Which was a scary thought. But I understood. Ever since we had joined Big Time Rush, we had done everything we could to stay true to ourselves. But that didn’t mean we didn’t have music executives breathing down our necks, ‘politely suggesting’ what we do next. And we had fans that wanted things from us, and if we didn’t provide, they would turn on us in a second. Fans are fickle. That’s rule number one in showbiz. So we had to give everyone what they wanted. And yeah, it was fun, and we did great things. But I figured somewhere along the way, we kind of forgot that the reason we’d gotten into it in the first places was for us, not them.

Really, I’d been doing it a lot for James. James wanted it so bad, how could I possibly take it away from him? I thought that if I could get his dream going, mine could wait. And it did. And I achieved it too. Only to find out that I wasn’t really dreaming about it at all. I’m fickle too, I guess.

“I guess I can understand that,” I replied, trying to sound nonchalant, though my brain was still going pretty quick. He seemed satisfied enough with the answer, though. And for a moment, I thought I had gotten away with a rough topic without having to offer anything in exchange.

“So,” James asked, and it amazed me at his nonchalance. “Did you have fun with your little escort last night?” Then again, James was always pretty good at keeping score. It was my fault though for breaking the let’s-not-talk-about-uncomfortable-things contract first.

I shrugged. “He was okay.”

James raised his eyebrows. “He?”

Motherfucker. I flushed. All the work I had done to keep my sexuality under wraps and James had managed to uncover it in one sentence.

“Never pegged you for a cocksucker,” James shrugged. “You were always being chased around by all those girls and stuff.” Then, he paused. “Except for once, I had an idea that you did. That guy, Chris. He came to the Palm Woods and he was always being super nice to you. We all joked he was trying to get into your pants.”

I felt my face heating up more. Chris _did_ get into my pants. And he was currently the reason Jo and I were so miserable around each other. I was feeling guilty. She was feeling hurt. Either way, it was a memory neither of us could really walk away from.

James nodded, eyeing me almost knowingly. “Yep. I see now. That’s why Jo broke up with you, huh?”

“Can we not talk about it?” I sighed. “It was a long time ago.”

And it was, really. At least, it felt like it was. It felt like centuries ago when I was just starting to wonder who or what I was and we were spending sun-filled days at the Palm Woods without having to deal with being grown-ups. Now, I was pushing thirty and still didn’t have a fucking clue about who or what I was. At least, I was better off than James, I thought. His descent made mine look a little more tapered, a little less dramatic. But, then again, he seemed a bit more comfortable with it than I was. Of course, we were both probably playing a little game, anyway.

“It _was_ a long time ago.” James lit another cigarette and scooted in a little closer, seeking a little more warmth as the breeze picked up over the rooftop. “You know, it’s weird. A lot of things in my life are just blurs now, but I remember that completely. You guys never had any big blow-up fight or anything. You both just got really quiet and kind of just… separated.”

“I know.” I was pretty much hating myself for the moment. A – for letting James find out one of my darkest secrets within a day of Katie doing the same, and B – for reminding myself how much of an asshole I had really been to Jo. Her words from earlier were still raw in my mind. “Chris was a dick.”

James laughed heartily, and it was a bit foreign to my ears after such a long time. “He was. Boy, you don’t even know. He was. He was the biggest dick on the planet.”

“Guess he was making up for shortcomings.”

“Maybe so. Maybe so.”

It was so weird, looking at James at that moment. For that one minute in time, he looked like he used to – a radiant star that just seemed so out of grasp and yet was right there in front of me. It made my heart ache for home. Not Minnesota. Not the Palm Woods. Just the time where I felt like I belonged somewhere. It didn’t matter to me then that he was on the nod. It didn’t matter to me then that he wasn’t famous like he’d always been talking about when we were young. He was still James. And damn, that meant something. I didn’t want to think about the drugs anymore. I didn’t want to think about anything. I just wanted to spend a little time with him, laughing, joking, talking for hours on end – like we used to do.

Even if I knew it was a mistake, deep down in my heart, to get sucked in.

Either way, it felt good to admit something like that and not be judged. Not that Logan and Carlos would judge me per se, but James didn’t ask any questions. He went with the flow. I just didn’t feel terrified at the idea of him knowing. And who would believe him if he told anyone anyway?

“I missed this,” I said gently, wrapping my arms around my knees.

“Yeah,” James replied, barely audible.

The breeze brushed by and I rubbed my arms, the gooseflesh rising there. “Wanna head back down?”

“Yeah, sure.”

James pulled himself up and offered his hand to me. I took it. It was rough and calloused, the patches telling their own stories. But it was warm. I held it for probably a little longer than necessary, but by the time we’d reached the door to the roof, I had let go and he was trailing behind me.

When I opened the door to my apartment, he had gained some distance and was basically hovering over my shoulder. I was glad I remembered to leave my heat on, because the tension eased from James’ form when the warm started to seep into the clothes he had borrowed from me. The clothes he was still wearing. There were still a few spatters of blood on the hoodie.

“Kind of chilly for L.A., huh?” I asked awkwardly, shutting the door and locking it.

“Kind of. It’s not as bad as some other places I’ve been though.”

I frowned. Yeah, that was right. James lived on the streets. He didn’t have a cushy apartment to return home to. James rubbed his hands together, standing in my living room, looking a little lost at what to do next.

“You hungry? Thirsty?” I asked.

He shrugged. “I guess.”

“I can order Chinese food.”

James smiled. And it was genuine and warm and it sunk into me like sunshine. “Yeah. Yeah, that’d be great.”  
After ringing up a local Chinese joint from the phone book and ordering a few things of fried rice, noodles, and won tons, the sound of music struck my ears.

James had found my piano. It was a small up-against-the-wall piano that I had gotten when I bought the apartment. I usually kept it covered because I couldn’t actually play it, and it was somewhat out of tune. I recognized the jazzy little ballad though. It was actually on a Jamie Cullum album I’d gotten my mom for Mother’s Day one year after she went on and on about how much she loved the song. And James was playing it flawlessly, tickling the ivories with a particular amount of prowess. I couldn’t help but wonder when the last time he had played was.

I sat down next to James on the bench. And I sang.

Damn, it had been so long since I had sung.

_“I think I love_  
Every single little crack on your face  
I think I love  
Even our most casual embrace.” 

It felt good. My voice was a little raspier from the cigarette I’d inhaled and from screaming on roller coasters, but it melted out of me like it was the most natural thing I’d ever done.

_“You don’t have to try._  
Cause I’ve made up my mind.  
Baby, I think I love you today.” 

James’ fingers delicately grazed the keys and I watched them for a little bit, perfect and graceful as always, even with the dirty, chipped nails, and the callouses and dirt all over. Even with the track marks on his wrists. They were beautiful, characteristic. He looked over at me and we both grinned.

_“Remember that time_  
You threw a can of beer at me like a stone.  
You’d drunk too much wine  
And threw up in the taxi cab on the way home.” 

James chuckled. I knew why. He related. We had gone out to a party before I left, and he’d gotten so trashed that he spent the majority of the night throwing up. On the side of the road, in the taxi, even in the bar. By the time we reached home, he was well strung out and his lips were red. He was gripping his stomach and groaning as I managed to drag him through the door. And every few minutes, he’d utter a “Fuck you, Kendall,” since I was the one that pumped him full of vodka. I cackled at every one, because, hey, he drank it.

_“You looked like a mess_  
But I must confess  
Baby, I think I love you today.” 

James’ shoulder was brushing against mine as he moved along the simple, sweet melody, his hair dipping down in his face, hiding it from my view.

_“When I think what we could do._  
If I could only say to you, yeah,  
All of these things  
Well, do I dare  
And would you care?” 

He looked up at me, playing into the ending part of the song. He kept eye contact with me.

_“I think I love_  
Every time you honor me with a kiss.  
I think I love  
There are just a million things I could list.  
Should let you know  
But maybe, tomorrow…” 

The room suddenly took on a different feel. I felt my breath hitch momentarily. The way he was looking at me…

_“Baby, I think I love you… today.”_

James’ hand moved up to the high end of the piano, his arm brushing against me, and yet he didn’t look there or anywhere else. He was still looking at me. His eyes were piercing through me like needles. I swallowed, suddenly realizing how dry my mouth had gotten. There were red flags going off in my mind, because, fuck, he was leaning in pretty close – or maybe I was – and I knew what kind of bad things could happen if I let him…

I felt my eyes flutter close, my heart slamming against my ribs. His breath tingled against my lips, and I found myself parting them, ready and willing. Fuck, I guess I was lonely.

Then the buzzer rang and I jumped, toppling off the back of the bench and cracking my head against the floor.

“AH! FUCK!” I wailed, gripping the pulsing point on the back of my skull.

Damn, either that song dragged or that Chinese place was fast.

“Are you okay?” James asked.

I nodded, still gripping the offending area. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. I’m fine.”

I buzzed the delivery man up and dug in my wallet for some cash. A couple of twenties would cover it, I thought. I didn’t look at James. I didn’t want that gaze to penetrate my brain and start reeling me back in. I knew that buzzer had to be a sign from God or something – a warning.

I had always made a pact with myself that I would try not to fool around with my friends – tempting as it was sometimes. After Jo and I broke up, I found her presence dwindling in my life, and whether I was dating her or not, it left an empty hole in my heart that would never be filled. We were trying to get back to good, but I didn’t see it happening particularly soon. If it’d taken us so long to get as far as we did, who knew how long it would take us to actually have fun together again without remembering the devastating events of our relationship? And I knew then, that I would not, could not, fuck around with or fall for my friends – because losing them…. I just couldn’t face that idea. Without Logan and Carlos and… well, James, at the time, I probably would have stuck a gun in my mouth.

Even though I knew I had been lying to them, and really, myself, for so long, I found that their praise and their honor in me gave me a reason to keep playing the role of badass-leader-pussy-magnet. But Jo knew. And the looks she’d give me then… they were frightening. I just started avoiding eye contact with her all together.

I paid the delivery boy and tipped him a good twenty percent, and he was gone.

“Let’s eat.”

We plopped down at the kitchen table and ate our chop suey in silence.

And I was avoiding eye contact with James too. Because, obviously James had to know what had been happening. And considering it didn’t, I preferred not to think about it at all – even though I could still feel my heartbeat in my ears. I ate all my food with the cheap wooden chopsticks that had to be rubbed together in order to prevent massive splintering of the tongue. James had to use a fork. He was once very agile with chopsticks, but his hands were shaking, preventing him for managing.

I tried to convince myself that I didn’t know why.

After we ate, James retreated to the bathroom and I slumped at the table. I knew what he was doing. I was positive. What the fuck was I thinking? I wasn’t ready for what was happening.

Then again, when was I ever? I had tried to relax and enjoy it for so long, but… things just started spinning out of control. And there I was. Sitting at a tiny kitchen table in a dusty apartment with one of my best friends in the bathroom shooting up.

Yeah, I’d sure done a hell of a job with my life. The feel of the room had gone back down that same downward spiral from before. And yet…

I couldn’t keep myself from wondering what would have happened if we’d gone uninterrupted. Would James have turned into another one of those nameless faces I’d jump between the sheets with, only to discover him gone the next morning? Would I have damaged something that was probably already too ruined to repair?  
I didn’t know. I didn’t want to know. I really didn’t.

James stayed in my bathroom for probably an hour and a half. I had cleaned up the kitchen and made my way to the back before I finally gathered the nerve to check on him.

He was asleep against my bathtub. And yet he looked the farthest thing from peaceful. He looked like he’d been beat up, strung out, and left out to dry. I stared down at him for a long time.

I could have been that. I could have been living on the streets, sticking needles in my arm, not giving a fuck what the world thought about me. He was me with the difference of one decision.

In school, they always said drugs were a horrible decision, and that _JUST SAYING NO_ would lead us to a better, happier life. And yet, here I was, standing there in a tiny bathroom, overlooking a guy my age with a drug problem and wondering…

Were either of us happy?

…

I dragged James to my bed and covered him up after a short bit, and I was tempted to slide in next to him, just so I could sleep nearby, knowing that if something happened, I’d be there. But I wasn’t quite comfortable with the idea. His brain wouldn’t be in the right place when he woke up.

I took the couch instead, my head falling heavily onto the armrest. I looked at my watch. It was almost two in the morning. After the long-ass day I’d had at Disneyland, I was still awake at two in the morning. And I couldn’t seem to get myself to sleep. I laid there, awake, staring at the door to my bedroom.

I didn’t want to close my eyes because I guess I thought he might leave. But it wasn’t like he wouldn’t come crawling back a few days later. What if he just wanted to be around me because I had a warm place for him to sleep? Hot food for him to eat? What about that? What if I was being used by the addict, not entertained by the friend? It made me sick inside to imagine. James Diamond… using me. We’d been together since we were children. He wouldn’t possibly… would he?

The addict would.

And yet at the same time, I found myself wishing he’d get up and come out to the living room and just talk with me about nothing, like we had on the rooftop. Maybe play another lilting tune on the piano and get us in trouble with other tenants for being too loud. I just wanted him to be with me. To be okay. To be _James_ again. Not James with the addict tacked on the end to it. I wanted to not think of Jo, and the hockey player that bashed my head in, and Logan ditching me for Camille because I had ditched him for a sport I didn’t even really enjoy anymore, and Carlos who was living the perfect life that supposed to be meant for all of us. I didn’t want to think of my mom getting older and my sister already being way too old for my tastes. I didn’t want to think about how I had failed them all in some way or another.

I also couldn’t help but wonder how my self-esteem had dropped so low. I used to have more fucking confidence than anyone could stand. Then again, I also had a purpose then too.

I rolled on my back and sighed. I needed to chill out. So I didn’t have a purpose in life. Not really. But lots of people didn’t. It wasn’t like I was completely the odd man out or anything. I just had to keep looking. Maybe I thought my purpose was to save James, but he didn’t really seem to want to be saved and, well, I wasn’t sure if I was the man for the job anyway.

By the time the sun rose, I hadn’t slept at all, and it was like death was lingering over me like a lead blanket. I didn’t want to move. I just wanted to sleep.

“Hey,” James greeted, trudging out of my room and rubbing his eyes. I could tell that he’d already shot up again by the way he was carrying himself.

“Hey,” I replied, and my voice was a low croak in my throat.

“Wow,” James said, making a face. “Have you slept?”

I sat up slowly, my head hanging under the sheer weight of my brain. “No, not really.” Then, I lied. “That Chinese food didn’t sit well with me.”

“Oh,” James murmured, shrugging. “I didn’t have any problems.”

Probably because he was too high to notice, but I wasn’t about to waste my energy fighting. I just didn’t have it in me. And I was still pretty sore and bruised from the last time.

“Damn, I was hoping we could go party tonight. But you don’t look much up to it.”

I raised an eyebrow. Partying by James’ standards was probably a lot different than by some others.

“I don’t know. I just can’t sleep.” I rubbed my eyes wearily. I couldn’t bring myself to tell James he was the reason why.

“Come On, Kendall. Don’t be a pussy,” James said, ruffling my hair with his large, warm hand. “I hear you hate those anyway.”

“Always been more of a dog person,” I sniped back. “And try to keep this a little more secretive, will you? I have a reputation to keep.”

“Must be nice.”

“No. It sucks. It fucking sucks, James.” I wasn’t in the mood. I was exhausted and confused and I didn’t want to fight, and yet I was picking one.

“Snippy. Are you mad that I took your bed? Because I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have cared waking up next to your bathtub. At least it’s warm in here.” He shrugged after I didn’t respond. “You look more drugged than I feel. I need a shower. I’m gonna borrow some clothes.” He disappeared into the other half of the apartment.

He was using me. I knew that. But I didn’t want to think all of him was in it for using me. What had happened the night before—er, well, almost happened—meant something, didn’t it? Not that I wanted it to. Or maybe I did. My brain wasn’t functioning at full capacity.

James came back, still in my sweats, his thin chest looking a bit pale in the morning light. “Here.” He handed me a small white pill.

“What is it?” I asked hesitantly.

“It will help you sleep.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

James rolled his eyes. “It’s a Benzo. Now take it.”

I did. And fuck, I shouldn’t have, but James was standing over me, and I was so tired. Just so tired. From everything. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to shut the world out for a while.

“Now I’m gonna shower.” James smirked. “Don’t peek. Unless you want to.”

He turned and headed back out. It was weird. I didn’t really feel anything right away. I listened to the showerhead pounding water out of the wall, and the soft hum of James singing. I felt a little relieved to know that he at least still did that. It was when I stood up to go to my room that it started to take effect. The world slowed and tilted on its axis, and I stumbled into a nearby wall. It seemed with each step, the floor began to wobble just a little bit more.

“James?” I called out. I was worried. My vision was blurring in and out. It wasn’t like being smashed. I felt like that little pill was pulling me out of my body, watching me stumble around my apartment in search of my bedroom. That shit must have been concentrated or something.

Then, with a final lurch, my body ended up on the floor. And I blacked out.

…

When I woke up, it was close to six in the evening. At some point I had been ungracefully plopped on my bed, and had slept the entire day away. My head was still spinning a little when I sat up.

The apartment was quiet.

“James?” I called out. No response.

It took a few tries to get stable on my feet again, and I still dragged myself against the wall as I made my way out.

I saw a figure at my kitchen table, and I sighed, a little relieved. “James, there you are—“

Except it wasn’t James.

It was Logan  



	14. Shut Your Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Future!Fic. Kendall returns to L.A. six years after Big Time Rush disbanded. James has been missing for years. Imagine how things change when James reappears in his life. And he needs help.

**Title:** Shut Your Eyes  
 **Authors:**  [](http://goten0040.livejournal.com/profile)[ **goten0040**](http://goten0040.livejournal.com/)   and [](http://garnetice.livejournal.com/profile)[ **garnetice**](http://garnetice.livejournal.com/)    
 **Chapter:** 14  
 **Rating:** M  
 **Ship(s):** Kendall/James, Carlos/Stephanie, maybe more.  
 **Summary:** Future!Fic. Kendall returns to L.A. six years after Big Time Rush disbanded. James has been missing for years. Imagine how things change when James reappears in his life. And he needs help.  
 **Previous Chapters:**[1](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/852.html#cutid1), [2](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1274.html), [3](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1511.html#cutid1), [4](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1554.html#cutid1), [5](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1996.html#cutid1), [6](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2234.html), [7](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2308.html#cutid1), [8](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2649.html), [9](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2935.html#cutid1), [10](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/3210.html), [11](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/3342.html#cutid1), [12](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/3705.html#cutid1), [13](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/3896.html#cutid1)

 

Logan overreacted.   
  
Actually, overreacted was too mild a word.  
  
“I feel like this is unnecessary,” I mumbled, but it came out like, “ahfeelozisunasasc-ry.”  
  
“Don’t talk,” he instructed, “Unless you want to puncture something.”   
  
Yeah, that didn’t sound like a fun thing to do.   
  
“Also, it _is_ necessary, because you’re acting like a freak.”  
  
Which, okay, I understood his reaction. Logan worried. It was his _thing_. He kept me in line through most of our childhood. When I tried to build my own ziplines and ventured into dark caves and wanted to climb on anything bolted to the earth, he acted as my voice of reason.   
  
Which was exceedingly obnoxious at the time, and I might have given him the really unfortunate, difficult to shake nickname of _buzzkill_ in third grade, but I wasn’t ever planning on enlightening him about that one.   
  
Point being, back then, Carlos was still Carlos; up for anything. James was willing to do whatever I thought was best, because while he didn’t exactly seek out thrills, he’d never been able to deny me much. Unless it was going to have a significant impact on his hair, face, and, or voice. He was always chill that way. Logan was the one who inevitably saved us from ourselves. My mom liked to say he was the reason I hadn’t accidentally managed to get killed by the time I was ten. And if there’s one thing I learned from my mom, it’s that worrying was a hard habit to shake.   
  
So, nah, I wasn’t really shocked that Logan was about to stab my tonsils out with the backend of a butter knife. I was just surprised he was being so- _aggressive_ about it. Like, I had serious concerns about my wellbeing in his hands, which was new, and not exactly reassuring.   
  
“I still think you should go to a hospital,” Logan said, looking less than thrilled with my life choices.   
  
“‘m g’d,” I mumbled, carefully trying not to let the metal rub up against my esophagus. It wasn’t sharp, but it was still decorative silverware, with little pointy bits that I could probably nick myself with somehow.   
  
He frowned at me.   
  
“W’dn?” I asked hopefully, giving him my best puppy eyes.   
  
“I have no idea what you’re saying,” Logan told me, but didn’t try to withdraw the knife for clarification.  
  
“Jouck,” I made a face at him, but the insult hadn’t really come out the way I wanted it to. He peered deeper down my throat, and I kind of wondered how far down into my body he could see. I felt open and vulnerable, and I didn’t like it at all.   
  
“You have an excellent gag reflex, by the way,” Logan murmured absently, and I could literally feel the blood drain from my face.  
  
“Kendall? You okay?”  
  
He pulled the gleaming end of the butter knife out of my mouth, and all things considered, it occurred to me he really could have used the sharper tip instead. His hands were steady enough.   
  
“I’m good,” I repeated, voice a bit scratchy from sleep. I’d been more than a little creeped out to find Logan in my kitchen earlier, waiting with a copy of the New York Times spread across my counter, trying and failing to complete a crossword puzzle. He’d immediately _attacked_ me, and I’m talking like, some Discovery Channel shit here, when he forced me into the chair, using the knife as a makeshift tongue depressor.  
  
“You’re not good. If you were _good_ , I wouldn’t have had to peel you up off the floor and put you to bed a few hours ago. Do you have any idea how scared I was?”  
  
I frowned. He was definitely overreacting. He was a doctor. And okay, I got that maybe he was wary of some complex, unpredictable chemical reaction going down, but if he’d simply put me to bed instead of dialing up an ambulance, he could obviously tell that I was fine.   
  
“Sorry. Look, it’s no big. I got- tired.”  
  
“You got so tired you decided to lay down- on the _floor_?”  
  
“Yeah,” I shifted uncomfortably. I knew it wasn’t right that I’d been hit so fast and so hard by whatever James had given me, but no way in hell was I bringing that up to Logan.   
  
“Were you drunk?”  
  
I glared at him.   
  
“Not so much, no. Don’t look at me like that, it’s my apartment, not Grand Central. I can sleep wherever I want.”  
  
“On the floor, Kendall? _Really_?”  
  
“Yes, really. Geez,” I raked a hand through my hair, still mussed from sleep, “I don’t even know why you’re here. Why _are_ you here?”  
  
Logan ignored me, shoving a mug into my face. Specifically, my favorite mug with the Wild emblem on it, right above my name. It had my team number stamped on the back.   
  
“I need you to pee in this.”  
  
I blinked. Then I did it again. Then, once more, for good measure.   
  
“What?”  
  
“Pee in the mug.”  
  
“Doesn’t it need to be like, sterile?” was the first thing out of my mouth, which, honestly, probably reflected how used to random, strange demands I was.   
  
“It’ll be fine. I’m just going to run a toxicology screen and-“  
  
“Jesus, Logan. No.”  
  
“Kendall.”  
  
“Okay, for one, even I know that thing is not sterile, and two, that’s disgusting. No. _N. O_.”  
  
“Just do it.”  
  
“What part of _no_ are you not understanding? I drink coffee out of that cup. I got it from my coach. It says my name on it. I’m not going to be able to drink coffee out of my favorite mug after I’ve pissed in it, okay?”  
  
“I’ll get you a Styrofoam cup from that corner store down the block.”  
  
“If you leave this apartment, I swear to god, I’m locking you out until you get less _insane_.”  
  
“ _I’m_ insane?”  
  
“Um, I’m not the one who wants a cup full of pee,” I pointed out, feeling that I was totally making a valid argument, “I’m not going to do it for you, dude.”  
  
“Kendall,” Logan shook the mug at me again, the expression on his face somewhere halfway between fond exasperation and serious anger.   
  
I was glaring again.   
  
“Look, I get that you’re paranoid because of James, but- I’m not a moron. I’m not about to risk my career. They test us regularly, you know.”  
  
Logan was nothing if not determined. His eyes sparked, “Really? Because you look _exactly_ like a moron to me. Who do you think called me over here, dimwit? James called, on your number, flipping the fuck out because you were down for the count and he had no idea what to do.”  
  
Oh. Well. I guess that made sense. My glare lessened.   
  
Logan was not done. Logan had plenty of fury, and he apparently was keen on sharing.   
  
“You took drugs off an addict. Do you even understand how dangerous that is? He probably doesn’t even know what he’s taking half the time!”  
  
I frowned. James knew what he gave me. He had to have known what he gave me. I squinted, trying to remember what he’d called the pills- benzos. Right. I’d read the pamphlets at school. Benzos were like, Xanax. That wasn’t too bad. Jo was on Xanax for a week when she had her wisdom teeth out, back when we were still dating, and she was floating around seeing pink unicorns or talking about pink dragons or I don’t even know. I specifically remembered the use of the word pink flying frequently. And some kind of magical creature that might have been of the woodland variety.   
  
I hadn’t seen any pink unicorns. I’d mostly blacked out. But Jo had been taking like, six pills at a time. I took one. That was like, nothing.   
  
Come to think of it, why had nothing put me on the ground? Not that I had the same aversion to the floor as Logan. I mean, it was clean. I had a maid for a reason, but-  
  
“I know you’re sheltered, so let me paint you a picture,” Logan snapped, “Addicts will try anything. If James wants heroin, and he can’t get it, he’s going to take whatever he can, in larger and more dangerous proportions. They call it chasing the dragon for a reason, Kendall.”  
  
Ha, so dragons were involved. Wait.   
  
Heroin. God. It sounded like such a dirty word.   
  
“He wouldn’t give me anything dangerous,” I said, and I was pretty sure I sounded like a lovesick, naïve teenage girl in that moment, but I didn’t really care.   
  
Logan sighed, “He might not have known. Don’t even get me started on the amount of counterfeit drugs on the market. People are mixing rat poison into their ecstasy now. You can’t just- If something happened to you-“  
  
“Nothing happened to me. I’m fine.”  
  
“You are _not_ fucking fine. You are the complete opposite of fine.”  
  
“It was just a- benzo,” I tasted the word, “That’s what he called it.”  
  
Logan’s eyes did that squinty thing they did whenever he was thinking something smart and scientific.  
  
“You obviously had some kind of allergic reaction or- I don’t even know. James said he was in the shower for ten, maybe fifteen minutes at the most. Benzodiazepines aren’t supposed to kick in that fast. It should’ve taken at least half an hour or more to knock you out completely, even if you were exhausted. Unless-”  
  
“Unless what?”  
  
“Nothing,” he said, carding his fingers through his hair roughly, “Just- like I said, James might not have known what he was giving you. I can’t believe you took anything from him.”  
  
It bothered me, the way Logan was looking at me right then.   
  
I’d never gotten any of that bitching and whining most teenagers did about being ‘understood’ when I was younger, because I had three best friends that could practically read my mind. It took me years to realize how lucky I was, because understanding isn’t something complicit. You have to work at it, and when you don’t have it anymore, it makes you ache. Logan was staring at me in a way that made it clear he had no idea what was going on inside my head, and yeah, that stung.   
  
It was weird, how I’d tried so hard to hide away everything I felt, but what I wanted most was for someone to see it all laid bare.  
  
“Where is James?” my voice came out a little stronger, but more raw. I hadn’t realized his absence was bothering me until the moment I asked the question.   
  
Logan’s expression darkened.  
  
“He was gone when I got here. I had to get you to bed. He didn’t even bother moving you.”  
  
I don’t know why I was actually surprised.   
  
“Kendall, what’s going on with you?”  
  
I frowned, wishing I could just go back to sleep. I still felt so tired.   
  
“I don’t know what you mean.”  
  
“I don’t get- anything that you’re doing. Talking to James and taking drugs and- you’ve been acting edgy anytime anyone asks you about the Wild and-“  
  
I felt like I had to interrupt him, before he started poking around wounds that were already too sore, “Maybe I’m an international man of mystery now.”  
  
“You would suck so hard at that vocation, don’t even get me started.”  
  
“I seem to be a mystery to you,” I told him pointedly, and he grimaced.  
  
“Yeah, well…” he shifted, and then hesitantly asked, “Are we ever going to talk like we used to?”  
  
“I don’t know what you’re-“  
  
“Stop it. Stop lying to me. You sound like a broken record. I know this isn’t the first time you’ve seen him since the club. I can’t believe you were talking to him all this time and didn’t tell me. You used to tell me _everything_.”  
  
I winced at the pain in his voice, but didn’t bother addressing it. Instead I asked, “How could you possibly know that?”  
  
“James was my friend too, okay? He _told_ me. And he told me- he’s worried about you.”  
  
“ _He’s_ worried- about _me_?” I asked, incredulous.   
  
“He’s an addict, not an idiot. Although, I suppose the two are interchangeable,” Logan muttered darkly, “You’re not exactly the life of the party right now, okay? I hate that you’re so horribly sad and- lost, all the time. I’d say you’re depressed but-“  
  
“I’m not.”  
  
That was a lie, I was depressed, but I didn’t want him whipping out a prescription pad.   
  
Psychotropics have always freaked me out. Half the time I felt like they were for the legitimately sick, but the other half I felt like people were trying to force- or were being forced- to medicate themselves into a coma. To try to create happiness with pills instead of a change of pace. Which seemed lazy, to me, honest, and it gave the people who really had Depressive Disorders a bad rap.   
  
So yeah, I didn’t like admitting I had moments of weakness, where I got _depressed_ for longer than a few minutes, or god forbid, if the mood took me for a whole week. I was always scared that someone would tell me feeling as bad as I did, however infrequently it happened, meant something was wrong with me. That they’d make me go to some hack shrink who’d base their entire psychological profile off a single instance of prolonged sadness instead of a life full of so much happiness. Because I had that. I _did_. I had so much good; so many amazing things in my life. I didn’t want anyone to try to medicate me into being content.   
  
And sure, I wondered, sometimes, if I was so scared of it because I actually believed there was something wrong with me, something that _could_ be medicated away. I thought if I actually told someone about my vulnerabilities, they would think I wasn’t strong enough.   
  
I wanted so desperately to be strong.   
  
Logan shook his head, “I don’t think it’s the clinical kind. I don’t think it has anything to do with chemical imbalances or some kind of psychological condition. I think something’s _wrong_ , and something’s been wrong for a long time, but you’re not talking to anybody. And it’s killing you.”  
  
“I. Am. Fine,” I practically growled, and I was getting more than a little pissed off. So I did the first thing that popped into my head. I scrabbled for my phone and hit speed dial.  
  
The line clicked. I pressed speaker phone.   
  
“Yo, yo, yo! Feeling better?”  
  
“I’m fine. Carlos, please tell Logan that I’m fine, and he needs to leave my apartment now.”  
  
Carlos was suspiciously quiet on the other end of the line. Logan smirked at me. It pissed me off more, and I said, “Okay, you know what? The only reason I haven’t been talking to you, _either_ of you, is that I barely know you anymore. You hardly ever pick up the phone, off in Florida or on set or whatever. It’s not my fault we’ve fallen out of contact, okay? Stop being so selfish.”   
  
I hated the words the second I said them.   
  
I could feel Carlos’s confusion at being invited into a conversation halfway through, even over the phone. Logan didn’t even look phased, and I kind of hated his bedside manner even more that my big mouth.  
  
“Kendall, we’re not the ones being selfish. We’re trying to be there for you, honestly, and yeah, maybe we’ve been a bit busy, but we’re not teenagers anymore. We can’t pick up the pieces every time you get a paper cut.”  
  
“You never had to do that,” I shot down the argument, my tone sullen.   
  
“No, we didn’t,” he agreed, eyes blazing, “But only because you wouldn’t let us. You’re so damn- stubborn. You’ve always internalized fucking everything, even though we were supposed to be the ones you told all your secrets to.”  
  
“I thought I used to tell you everything,” I sneered.   
  
“Everything that counted, that wasn’t subconscious or that we couldn’t already see for ourselves,” Logan replied, matching my tone, “And that would’ve been fine, if you weren’t so sensitive. You think we couldn’t see it? Every time something went wrong, it drove you harder, made you more determined to win at- god, I don’t know. _Life_? And when things didn’t go your way, you’d find a new way to make it all happen. And we’d be by your side, doing our best to make sure you didn’t fall apart.”  
  
“Isn’t ambition normally considered a good thing?”  
  
“Not like that. Not when it gets in the way of living.”  
  
I glared at Logan. This wasn’t working for me. At all.   
  
“Bye Carlos,” I said, not even letting him get a word in. I hit the second number on speed dial, listening to the ring and Logan’s harsh breathing. He watched me, but he didn’t say anything.  
  
“Hello?”   
  
“Katie? Logan won’t leave my apartment. He thinks I’m hiding some big dark secret from him.”  
  
Immediately, my baby sister came to the rescue.   
  
“My brother’s a big boy, Logan. Leave him alone.”   
  
“But-“  
  
“Seriously, dude. Mind your own business. None of us need a babysitter anymore.”  
  
Logan made a face at the phone that indicated he might actually still have been five and in need of a babysitter, but I chose not to mention it. Then he threw his hands in the air and said, “You know what? Fine. Be that way.”  
  
My eyes followed him as he stormed out the door. I forgot I still had Katie on the line.   
  
“Kendall?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Don’t make me regret that. Figure your shit out.”  
  
She hung up. I cursed. What the hell had I let James get me into?  
  
What had I just gotten myself into, was a more appropriate question. I didn’t want to think about the tantrum I’d just thrown. I could imagine Carlos still staring at his cell, wondering what on Earth he’d done to deserve any of that. And Logan. He was just trying to be a good friend- but.  
  
I felt prickly all over, like my skin was too tight. I wanted James to come back, but I didn’t plan on trolling the streets for him. Plus, he’d left me. On the floor. He’d called Logan, but- I kept telling everyone how James was my best friend. I was beginning to think the operative word there would be _was_.  
  
Whatever. I needed to get out. Immediately.  
  
\---  
  
Half an hour later, I found myself standing in the foyer of Rocque Records, a bottle of vodka clutched in one hand. It was a little sad, that of all the places and people I’d known in my life, this was the only one that still felt safe.   
  
A sleek looking assistant wearing an expensive suit tried to tell me that Mr. Rocque was not available at the current moment, but I walked right on by. He didn’t try to stop me.   
  
Gustavo was still hunched over his piano, just like in all my memories.   
  
“Ahem.”  
  
His eyes snapped up, shrewd as ever.  
  
“You. What are you doing here?”  
  
“Visiting,” I plopped down on the couch across from the piano, “I visit now.”  
  
“I’d rather you didn’t.”  
  
I ignored him. I was getting good at that tonight.   
  
“How’s Muffy? Buffy?”  
  
Aka the new talent. She was some up and coming pop singer from Oklahoma or Ohio or, fuck, maybe Oahu for all I knew. I’d stopped listening to Top 40s crap a long time ago. Every once in a while my voice would pop up on the radio, and send me into this long spiral of self hate that wasn’t really conducive to anything. It was better not to even try.   
  
Gustavo rolled his eyes.  
  
“Is her name Muffy? I thought it was Lulu. I’d be embarrassed if I cared.”  
  
“How do you not know what your superstar’s name is?”  
  
“I only signed her last- _year_. Oops. Kel-“ I mean, he corrected himself with a mournful glance towards the door, towards his assistant’s office, “Dave, is supposed to _tell me these things_.”  
  
He shouted the last bit out the door, and I heard the telltale ‘oof’ of a haggard assistant falling off of his chair.   
  
“Still haven’t found a decent replacement?” I winced.   
  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  
  
“Oh, so Kelly’s not even picking up your calls then. Got it.”  
  
Gustavo glared at me, “I liked it better when you didn’t visit. Where are the rest of the dogs?”  
  
“Not here.”  
  
“I thought you all were attached at the hip.”  
  
“We grew up. Things change,” I shrugged, trying not to show how obnoxious I found things changing to be. Gustavo didn’t seem fooled.   
  
Well. He wouldn’t.   
  
Kelly left Rocque Records about half a year after BTR broke up.   
  
No one was surprised, except Gustavo. She’d been his executive assistant for nearly ten years, and he’d gotten comfortable, having her around. When she got her own record company off the ground a few years ago, he saw it as a betrayal.   
  
He didn’t handle it well. Actually, that was an understatement. I still remember how he completely bombed this one interview where her name got brought up, basically calling her talentless hack who only got started in the music industry because she used to fuck a guy who was a friend of a friend of Gustavo’s nephew.   
  
It got Rocque Records and Wainwright Productions a lot of press, both good and bad. One of my teammates thought it would be hilarious to inform me that my label was about to go down in flames.   
  
I knew it wouldn’t; in the music business, there’s no such thing as bad publicity. Except maybe, no publicity. As long as Gustavo Rocque’s name kept turning up in headlines, he’d be fine.   
  
What I was worried about, although I didn’t say so at the time, was _him_. The article, full of insults as it was, read more like an obituary.   
  
She was a talentless hack.   
  
_She was my only friend._  
  
She’s only successful because of me.   
  
_I miss her._  
  
She’s never going to make it in this business.   
  
_I want her to come back_.   
  
It was sad, when you read between the lines.  
  
“I brought vodka,” I offered the bottle.   
  
“I’m working.”  
  
“Work with vodka,” I suggested. He gave me a lopsided grin.   
  
And then the drinking began.   
  
It was good at first. Five shots in, he played me back part of a song.   
  
“That’s good. Really good.”  
  
“Of course it’s good. I wrote it.”  
  
“Well,” I said ruefully, “Yeah.”  
  
The good part didn’t last very long. Gustavo didn’t really know how to keep his mouth shut. Neither did I, come to think of it.   
  
“Carlos’s movies,” he announced out of the blue, when half the bottle had been polished off, “They’re not bad. Weird, but not bad.”  
  
I raised an eyebrow.   
  
“You watch them?”  
  
“I might’ve been keeping tabs on you. Way to bomb that game against the Bruins, by the way.”  
  
I groaned into my hand, peering up at him through my fingers.   
  
“Thanks, I try. How many of my games have you actually seen?”  
  
“One or two or- all of them,” he frowned, “Or most of them. There’s a backlog on my DVR. Season nineteen of Celebrities Under Water is addictive. Also, please tell Logan that those billboards he let his business partner put up are lame. He looks like a cheesy plastic surgeon.”  
  
“I can’t believe you’ve been stalking us.”  
  
“Stalking?” Gustavo laughed, loud and thunderous, “As if I would stalk a bunch of monkey dogs. I have better things to do. I have M- Buffy-“  
  
“Lulu,” I corrected. He scowled at me.  
  
“I knew her name was Lulu.”  
  
“It was a test,” I shrugged, “You failed. Do you stalk her?”  
  
“Not since the last time she went shoe shopping.”  
  
Okay. Maybe Gustavo isn’t the one who couldn’t leave well enough alone.   
  
“What about Kelly?”  
  
Gustavo was silent, and I guessed that was all the confirmation I needed. I swore to myself that I would figure out a way to make him some friends. One of these days. Katie would probably have to get involved.   
  
“How’s Griffin?” I tried switching the subject.   
  
“Griffin is insane. It is profoundly unfair that he still possesses all of his mental faculties at ninety.”  
  
“I think he’s only like, seventy.”  
  
“He looks ninety,” Gustavo retorted. I laughed.   
  
“Also- his daughter is a demanding bitch. And psychotic,” he added, like I wasn’t perfectly aware of that part.   
  
“She’s in charge of the company now, right?”  
  
“She’s vice president. Soon to be CEO.”  
  
“Vice president? Why not president?”  
  
“That monkey, Lolo,” Gustavo made a sour face, “He reminds me a lot of Lulu, actually.”  
  
“That’s, um, sweet.”  
  
In my head I was wondering why he felt the need to compare all of his acts to animals.   
  
“How-“ he glanced away from me, and I could tell he was trying to be careful, which was weird, “How are the dogs, these days?”  
  
“Good. Great. Excellent, I guess.”  
  
“You miss them, don’t you?”  
  
“I’ve seen Carlos about three times this week, and Logan- I just saw Logan a few hours ago. No. I don’t miss them,” I lied. I missed them all the time. Even when they were standing right in front of me, these days.   
  
“Please. You’re pathetic. You’re all pathetic,” Gustavo said, eyes narrow, “Pining after the good old days, when you were all ignorant little mutts.”  
  
I rolled my eyes, but I listened. His words were harsh, but his voice wasn’t unkind.   
  
Gustavo acted like a mean fuck a lot of the time, but he was basically a giant rolly polly. He didn’t say cruel things because he wanted them to hurt. He said them because they were true. Which I respected.   
  
“I bet when you were little, all you wanted was to grow up. Be a man. How’s that working out for you, Kendall? Old dogs. New tricks,” he swirled a finger in the air, “ _Sucks._ Doesn’t it?”  
  
“Pretty much,” I agreed. Then I said, “She didn’t leave to spite you. She had like, a gazillion dollars in college loans to pay off, and a ridiculously fancy education. She had to make use of it.”  
  
“I know that,” Gustavo said, but his tone was dubious, like he thought that Kelly should have shelved her dreams and stayed his assistant forever.   
  
He had abandonment issues. I empathized. We’d always been kind of similar that way, from our explosive tempers to our over-attachment to friends to the betrayal we felt when they left. Even if their reasons were totally valid, and we even encouraged them to go.   
  
We were both contradictory and horrible, terrible people, inside. Weak.   
  
But I was still trying so hard to be strong.   
  
I offered him another drink.   
  
Half an hour later, I watched Gustavo snoring on the couch and wondered if music was enough for him.   
  
He spent so much time writing about love; it seemed like a tragedy that for as long as I’d known him, he’d never once found it. There were rumors about a girl, long before my time, when Gustavo was barely out of his teenage years.   
  
Some people said she’d rejected him. Some people said she died. There was this urban myth about a People magazine spread covering their backyard wedding; merely a blip on the radar, back when Gustavo hadn’t yet produced his first number one hit.   
  
I’d never seen it.   
  
I never saw any angry ex wives, either, and I felt like, if Gustavo had been married, and it ended badly, the woman who would’ve been able to put up with him wouldn’t have vanished off the face of the earth.   
  
Maybe she would’ve moved to the other end of the world, but I figured she would’ve at least made her presence known when she called for alimony, or something. Gustavo always liked the strong, slightly off balance girls, and man, we all do crazy things for love.   
  
I leaned back on the couch, wondering if I should close my eyes or head back home.   
  
I thought about what Gustavo said, about the good old days of BTR, and how I missed my friends. I did. Desperately. And I was jealous of them too. Being out here, in California? This wasn’t my reality anymore.   
  
Carlos and Logan had their picture perfect lives to attend to. Logan had to leave eventually; he’d been away from his practice for too long already. When he was gone, what was left for me? Being the third wheel to Carlos and Stephanie’s marriage?   
  
At least when Logan was gone, I could’ve-   
  
I didn’t actually know what I thought I could’ve done. I felt like a kid who wanted to pull something off when his mom wasn’t looking, something wrong and dirty and illegal, but I couldn’t actually pin down what it was I wanted to do.   
  
Quit the team for good? Talk to James? Get a prescription for benzodiazepines?   
  
That last one almost sounded good. Because even tipsy to the point of intoxication, even as exhausted as I was, I couldn’t sleep.   
  
\---  
  
[Chapter Fifteen](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/4834.html#cutid1)  



	15. Shut Your Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Future!Fic. Kendall returns to L.A. six years after Big Time Rush disbanded. James has been missing for years. Imagine how things change when James reappears in his life. And he needs help.

**Title:** Shut Your Eyes  
 **Authors:**  [](http://goten0040.livejournal.com/profile)[ **goten0040**](http://goten0040.livejournal.com/)   and [](http://garnetice.livejournal.com/profile)[ **garnetice**](http://garnetice.livejournal.com/)    
 **Chapter:** 15  
 **Rating:** M  
 **Ship(s):** Kendall/James, Carlos/Stephanie, Logan/Camille, maybe more.  
 **Summary:** Future!Fic. Kendall returns to L.A. six years after Big Time Rush disbanded. James has been missing for years. Imagine how things change when James reappears in his life. And he needs help.  
 **Previous Chapters:**[1](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/852.html#cutid1), [2](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1274.html), [3](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1511.html#cutid1), [4](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1554.html#cutid1), [5](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1996.html#cutid1), [6](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2234.html), [7](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2308.html#cutid1), [8](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2649.html), [9](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2935.html#cutid1), [10](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/3210.html), [11](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/3342.html#cutid1), [12](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/3705.html#cutid1), [13](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/3896.html#cutid1), [14](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/4461.html#cutid1)

Chapter Fifteen

I made my way out of Rocque Records, my head still a bit loopy from the alcohol and extremely heavy from exhaustion. I found myself wondering how I’d even gotten there. I didn’t drive. Did I walk? Did I take a cab? My mind was failing me. It bothered me. Maybe Logan was right. Maybe there was something really fucked up in my brain that was feasting on me and killing me slowly. Like a cancer. Maybe I had brain cancer. It’d explain my lack of sense as of late. I stumbled down the sidewalk for a few blocks, keeping my head down and a low profile before I finally decided to hail a cab. I pulled my wallet out of my pocket.

My cash was gone.

“Mother fucker!” I grunted, and a mother nearby shot me an accusatory look, shielding her child’s ears from my naughty words.

There was no helping it though. James had left me on the floor and taken my money. Just like junkies did. I don’t even know why I was surprised, but I was. And I wasn’t just angry either, as much as I didn’t want to admit it. It sent a pang of pain right through my chest to think he would do such a thing. I guess I was thinking I was different. That I mattered more to him than that. I shoved my wallet back in my pants pocket and kept walking. I knew I could pay the cabbie with a credit card, but I was pissed and wanted to walk it off.

I think I walked for hours. At some point, I lost myself in my pace and just moved through the masses and walked away from the world for a little bit. By the time I remembered what I was doing, it was late. _Late_ late. So I hunched my shoulders and hailed that cab I’d planned on taking earlier. I took the cab home – or, I guess I could call it that for the time being even though it didn’t feel that way anymore. I slipped up to my apartment without a word to anyone and pushed open the door with a groan. I was sore from the day, and probably from hitting the floor so hard, and I was at a loss of what to do. The guilt from my earlier conversation with Logan was mixing with my exhaustion and weighing me down like my feet had been put in concrete blocks, like in those mobster movies where Joey Bagadonuts had to “sleep with the fishes.”

And I tried to sleep. Good God, I tried so hard. I nearly suffocated myself in my sheets and comforter trying to get to sleep. But I couldn’t. My brain just couldn’t shut down. So I laid in bed for hours and hours, fighting the urge to scream and throw things at the wall, because I was just so fucking tired. I finally gave up, deciding to mindlessly stare at the TV in my living room, watching late night infomercials about penis-enhancement pills and 1-900-numbers.

That was when I heard it. About 4 AM came the timid knock on my door.

James was on the other side of it. Of course.

“Fuck you,” I said straight to his face, glaring him down. A part of me wanted him to come in, and I was fighting it as hard as I could.

“I mistook the pill, okay? I messed up.”

“I’m guessing you _mistook_ my wallet for yours too?” I fired back immediately. “What the fuck did you give me? And why did you take my cash? To feed your fucking habit? Fuck you.” I emphasized once again.

“It was…” James sighed. “I guess it was a roofie. Some guy gave it to me awhile back, but I didn’t take it. It looked like a Benzo…”

“You…” I gaped at him. “You _ROOFIED ME?!_ ” I heard movement from the apartment next door and groaned, yanking James inside. It wasn’t an argument we could have in the hallway. I nearly slammed the door though.  
“You roofied me, called Logan, took my cash, and left me on the fucking floor?!”

James glared. “I didn’t take your fucking cash!”

“Oh, well, then, what happened to it?!” I fought back.

“You _paid_ the Chinese delivery man, remember?! Christ!”

I did. I nearly hit myself when I realized it. But still, “You left me on the floor! Can you imagine the lecture I got from Logan after he found me on the floor? He tried to get me to piss in a cup! Because you called him!”

“I didn’t know what else to do,” James said, his voice edgy. “I thought you’d had some kind of reaction or something. I figured he’d help.”

“And you told him _you_ were worried about _me_?!”

James groaned, mumbling, “How the fuck can you remember all this but not that you paid the goddamn Chinese delivery man?”

“How can you possibly think I have a problem? You’re the junkie.”

“Yeah, whatever, Kendall, whatever.” James ran his hands down his face, looking way too tired for the fight. “Like we don’t all fucking have problems. It’s not like I knew Logan was gonna go crazy on you.”

“Yes you did. You knew,” I accused. “You _know_ Logan. That’s how he’s always been!”

“Well, excuse me for thinking people change once in a while. Fuck, Kendall, look at us. You think we’re the same people we were years ago?”

I stared, my shoulders slumping. “Well, no.”

“And if Logan and Carlos are the same, and I’m different, and that makes me fucked up, then that makes you fucked up too, doesn’t it?”

James’ words were a bit convoluted and hard to understand. I ignored them, though.

“So what’d you take tonight? What’s got you trudging back to my place at this hour?”

“I didn’t do smack if that’s what you’re asking.”

“So, what? Meth then? Coke? Ecstasy? I bet you don’t even know what you took.”

James’ eyes flickered in another direction. Fuck, I didn’t want to be right.

“God damn it, James.”

“I was out. I don’t need you questioning my choices. This is my life, not yours.”

“Well, then. This is my apartment, not yours. So why are you standing in it?” My voice pitched a bit higher and felt raspy in my throat. “What keeps bringing you back around?”

“I’ve come by a couple of times. You were gone. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Why the fuck would it matter to you?”

James gave me a dark look, and I’d only seen that look a few times – it was always right before he said something extremely hurtful, something he planned on winning an argument with – “I didn’t want to get a murder rap just because you can’t handle a damn pill.”

It always worked too. I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“You don’t give a crap at all, just if what happens to me affects you directly?”

James was tense, his jaw set. His eyes looked almost gray in the light and I realized that my accusation wasn’t true. He did care. I wanted him to say it, but I didn’t think he would. Our fights never ended with ‘sorry.’ They always ended with some sort of peace offering, but never the word sorry.

“Kendall,” he sighed. “I came back here because you don’t bother me about the drugs, alright? You seemed perfectly fine with letting me live my life the way I want to. Now you’re rounding on me like everyone else. This is why I left in the first place, okay?”

I knew it wasn’t true. I didn’t know his actual reasons, but something told me that he was lying to me, and maybe even to himself.

“I just didn’t want people hounding me all the time. I wanted to do something I wanted. I thought you got that.”

“I don’t. I don’t get it.” I shook my head, feeling a little weak on my feet. “I don’t think I could even try to, to be honest.”

My head was spinning a bit. I needed sleep so bad.

“…You look like hell. Are you okay?” James’ arm wrapped around me and pulled me closer. “Kendall?”

“I’m so fucking tired, James.” I wanted to cry. The statement was so simple yet so full of complexities that it made me want to sob until I couldn’t breathe. “I’m just so fucking tired.” I laid my head in the crook of his neck, and he held me there for a long time. I didn’t cry. That wasn’t really the “trying to be strong” I was going for.

I _was_ tired. Not just physically. I was tired of everything. Of not knowing how I felt. Of not talking to my friends about what was going on. About masking my identity and calculating every move to keep others from finding out who or what I was. I was tired of being ashamed of myself, of every decision I made. I was tired of being so god damn lonely all the time because I was so afraid of anyone rejecting me once they found out.

And I knew deep down that the important ones wouldn’t, but it didn’t stop my brain from convincing me that they would.

I was tired of having to be strong, but at the same time, I was tired of letting everybody down.

I wrapped my arms around James’ torso and pulled him in even closer to me, because he was so warm, so relaxed. I felt like I could feed off of it. A warm body, no questions, just a warm, relaxed body. It was just something I needed. Something he needed. That was what he meant. I didn’t have to try to understand it at all, because it came instantly, so instantly that I never even noticed.

“Maybe I do get it. I don’t know.” I slurred into his neck.

“Come on,” James insisted, hitching his arm around me and moving me toward my bedroom. I nearly collapsed into my bed, dragging him along with me.

We laid there in silence, hardly breathing for fear it disrupt everything. He pulled the blankets up around us in the dark, and I could feel the rise and fall of his chest against my hand. And after what seemed like ages, he sang, very softly, into my hairline.

_Good night my angel now it's time to sleep_  
And still so many things I want to say  
Remember all the songs you sang for me  
When we went sailing on an emerald bay 

That was all I heard.

…

I woke up with a heavy weight on my chest, my eyes cracking open in the sunlight. It took me a little time to remember what exactly had gone down. I was a little drunk the night before, after all. James’ arm was laid across my chest, and he was sleeping hard against the pillow, the long frayed ends of his hair falling over his shoulder. I still found it bizarre how he didn’t look at peace at all when he slept. I wondered if I did.

I felt a lot more at peace – at least for the moment. Because sleep had finally claimed me – no roofie required.

Of course, at the memory that James had drugged me and left me unconscious on the floor, I couldn’t help but still be a little mad at him. But, then again, his arm was warm on my chest, and the extra weight and heat in the bed made it cozier. And having someone nearby when I woke in the morning… well, that was refreshing to say the least.

I guess that was his peace offering.

I felt a content little smile make its way across my lips as I closed my eyes again, hoping to sleep the rest of the day away and forgetting all the awful things that had happened before. And that’s when it struck me.

I was getting way too fucking close.

I hate my mind sometimes. I knew I had managed to grow the habit of pushing close people away so they wouldn’t know about my dark secrets, but c’mon. James knew them. James had darker ones. Maybe that was why I was so afraid. Like I was getting in too deep because I was getting so close. It didn’t seem to matter what happened. He’d piss me off, we’d fight, but by the end of it all, I still ached for him when he was gone, and felt somewhat more at ease when he was there. He was making my life a living hell and I loved it. Well, maybe not loved it, but I was sure as hell putting up with a lot.

I knew from television shows and books about addiction that an addict isn’t the only one with the problem. The addict draws in his friends and family and helps them to enable him to do the drugs he wants.

I wondered if that was what he was doing to me.

I also worried why it didn’t bother me. I guess I thought I’d fucked him up beyond repair, so who really cared what would happen after that? All I wanted to do was curl up with him and pretend everything was happy-go-lucky, and we were basking in the L.A. sunshine leaking through the blinds, and he wasn’t on drugs, and I wasn’t miserable.

It’s nice to pretend.

“Hey,” James snorted, stirring out of his sleep, looking at me blearily with a lopsided grin.

“Hey,” I echoed, my voice just barely over a whisper.

I felt my breath hitch momentarily, knowing we were practically nose to nose, but he rose up almost immediately after I realized it, running a hand through his hair.

“What time is it?” he asked, though he wasn’t really asking me, as much as leaning over me and grabbing my cellphone off the bedside table. His lean body lingered over me as he checked, and I could smell the streets on him, the smells of skeevy bars and L.A. air. “Really? Only nine thirty?”

I was too busy staring at the line where his shirt rode off his hips.

“Fuck that,” he said. “Let’s go back to sleep. You want to go out tonight?”

I felt my cheeks flush against my will. I knew he didn’t mean what I thought, but my head was still a little hazy. “Yeah, whatever,” I said, rolling over on my stomach, knocking against his knees as he settled back into my mattress.

It felt like the old days, actually.

James had shared a bed with me a lot of times. When we were little, he’d sneak in through my bedroom window on nights he felt particularly bad and burrow into my comforter. Back in Minnesota, when we had all begun to slip into our pubescent days, James had been pretty. Hell, he’d been pretty his whole life, but there was something about teenage boys when it came being pretty. James was massively bullied, and though he typically held his own in the fights, sometimes it got to him. Sometimes he wilted into my mattress and tried to hide the fact that he was crying.

And even when we were older, I think he wanted to, but he never did. I’d catch him lingering in my room on nights he was feeling particularly low. He had days where the press got to him, when magazines would tell him he wasn’t dressed right, or didn’t look professional. There were times when critics bashed us, but James always seemed to feel the brunt of it the most. Because it really _mattered_ to him what they thought.  
I wondered if it would have made a difference, if I had said something, told him to come and lay with me and forget the world for a while. Maybe he wouldn’t have needed a hit to do it for him.

James curled into me, his head resting on my chest, his eyes looking glossy and lost, like maybe he was thinking the same thing. But again, I couldn’t bring myself to ask. For someone trying to be so strong, I sure sucked at it.

But I didn’t want to say anything wrong. I didn’t want to end up like Gustavo. Yes, he had the island that he spent a lot of time at, and the cushy job, and all the amenities a guy could ask for, but he didn’t have one person to share it with. He was living a pathetic existence, holding on to the years he had with Big Time Rush as the closest thing he ever had to family. We had all moved on and he’d stayed behind. He’d lost everything. To know he was still quietly rooting for us was touching, but it was also devastatingly sad. I didn’t want to be that. I wanted someone in my life. I wanted to have a reason to get up in the morning.

I looked down. James was sleeping soundly. I stroked his hair and looked to the ceiling.

I wished things were different.

…

I got up before James, dragging myself into the kitchen for a little coffee to perk me up. I was feeling a bit better than I had been. The company alone was enough to lift my spirits at least, even though I’d probably only slept a few hours total. While my coffee brewed, I showered and dressed and actually shaved. I was kind of amazed at how much younger it made me look, but I knew it was short lived. I’d have five o’ clock shadow in no time.

“Morning,” James said as I stepped into the bedroom with a mug of coffee – the same mug Logan had tried to get me to piss in the day before. I never actually did, but my psyche still made it taste like piss.  
J  
ames was hunched over the bed, digging in the hoodie he’d dropped on the floor at some point, a grimace on his face. He sat up with one white pill in his hand.

“Fuck,” he said.

“Careful, don’t want to take a roofie without knowing,” I said dryly. “Believe me, it sucks.” I rubbed at my neck absently, then stretched. “You want some coffee?”

“No, dude, I don’t,” James said, and he was a little jittery, sniffing at the pill, trying to figure out what it was. “Fuck it,” he said and began crushing it on my bedside table.

“What are you doing?” I asked, but he simultaneously answered me by snorting the powder right up his nose.

I suppressed a shudder.

James sat up, sniffing and giving a refreshed “ _Ahhh._ ”

“What’d you take?”

“Fuck if I know.”

He didn’t look back at me, but his next words told me he sensed how that made me feel. “Look, I just… I needed it, okay?”

“Okay.” I felt the word leak from my mouth without a thought. I suppressed another shudder.

James slipped off to the shower, flashing me a beautiful smile that reminded me of how he used to be before shutting himself behind the door.

If Logan had any clue what I was letting James do, he’d kill me. Not that he wasn’t aware at all, but to let James do the drugs right in front of me...

By the time James had gotten out of the shower, his pupils were dilated, and he was getting a bit perky, and by the time I finished coffee and a small breakfast, he was downright jittery. He shot me a dazzling grin from across the table.

“So I hope you’re gonna go out with me tonight. I think we’re gonna have a lot of fun.”

“Great,” I said slowly, eying him warily. “Are you… okay?”

“Dude,” he said, even slower, reaching across the table and putting his hand on top of mine. “I’m _fantastic._ ”

I felt heat creep up the back of my neck and I gave him half a smile, pulling my hand away from him, closer to my body. “Cool.”

No, I told myself, I couldn’t allow myself to get sucked in. But going out and forgetting my life for a little while didn’t seem like a bad idea… did it?

Actually, it _was_ bad. It was very, very bad. But one more bad decision probably wouldn’t fuck me up any more than my other decisions already had.

…

“Will you speed up?” James snapped, dragging me forward by my hand. “Come on!”

For the first couple of hours that morning, he’d been, well, pretty delightful. He had turned the stereo up to a volume that got us in trouble about four times, and sang at the top of his lungs and danced and cleaned. He even whirled me into a strange, awkward waltz, laughing into my hair. I felt like we were children again, best friends again. I didn’t know what he took, but I liked it a lot more than the heroin. Heroin kind of turned him into an asshole.

God, thinking that way made me a little sick to my stomach. Suddenly James’ drug use was just something that he did, a hobby. I had a feeling I was getting sucked in anyway.

But after those blissful few hours of fun and laughter and ridiculousness, whatever he took began wearing out, and he’d grown insanely irritable, dragging me out of the apartment and off to the dirty parts of L.A. Eventually, we stumbled into a rave club, booming and filled to the brim with people. James was trading cash for pills with guys he knew but I didn’t.

I felt out of place to say the least. Everyone was writhing against each other in the dark. Men, women, and combinations of both, more than likely. The music was a loud roar in my ears, booming around me and vibrating in my bones. And it was hot. God, the whole place was fucking sweltering. It was like stepping into a steamroom, and sweat was already beading at my hairline. James appeared in front of me, slipping a couple of pills that looked like Sweet Tarts over his tongue and grabbing me harshly by the arm again and jerking me onto the dancefloor.

“Come on, don’t be a buzzkill. Have fun!”

“Dude,” I yelled over the ear-bleeding music. “What IS THIS PLACE?!”

I couldn’t hear his response over the music.

We danced for hours, it seemed. James completely lost his mind, gyrating and sliding around me while I awkwardly tried to keep up. I had never been much of a dancer considering my career had been built on it. Everyone always said I was good-but-not-serious, but I really didn’t think I was all that good, and definitely not serious. James had always been a natural. Each little slip of his hips, move of his feet and arms, he was just mesmerizing. I spent more time watching him than actually dancing. And with elbows and knees pushing me closer and closer to him, I found myself breathing a profound amount of his air.

“JAMES!” I yelled over the music. I wanted to leave. I was uncomfortably close and it was so damn hot.

He looked at me, and his eyes were almost black. He fisted my shirt, pulling me flush against him. Suddenly, it was like the music wasn’t there at all, because I could hear him perfectly, even though he was whispering.

“You’re fucking hot.” He kissed me so hard that our teeth knocked together, and I wasn’t even able to process it. My brain went haywire, like maybe whatever had blanked his mind had slipped into my bloodstream and done the same to me, even though it was impossible.

Fucking hot? Yeah, no kidding.

And he was dragging me across the floor, off to a dark corner behind the speakers where it was even louder. James shoved me against the wall and pressed his mouth into mine. I gasped, trying to resist, but there was nothing I could do. He was shoving his tongue into my mouth with my protests and goddamn. I didn’t think well in heat. I really didn’t. I knew that if I had been in a less stifling room, I might have been able to use my brain, maybe remember what Logan had been telling me. But I wasn’t. And James was devouring my neck and kissing down my chest, and I was paralyzed against the wall and half-hard in my jeans.

“James,” I was stammering as he fiddled with my belt buckle. “N-not here….”

We were in public. We could be seen. Not that anyone was paying any attention, but I had gone to extreme lengths never even appear to like men, and James was ruining it. I had fought to keep an image. I had to be the hockey star that hung out with hot women. I had to be a man’s man. Macho. Strong. I couldn’t let people know that I was gay. I couldn’t let people see that I had one ounce of vulnerability, that I could lose control and I was afraid of it. I couldn’t be seen. I didn’t want to be seen, not with his hands running down my stomach, not with my jeans down around my ankles, not with _James_. One break in the plan, in the mask, and everything would be ruined. If word got out, I’d have nothing. No career, no private life, nothing. And if my mother found out, and Logan, and Carlos… I didn’t know what they would think. Would they hate me? Would they resent me for allowing our friend to corrupt me? And my father… I hadn’t seen him in years, but what if he saw me? He’d be ashamed. He’d be absolutely humiliated and happy he left his awful, faggot son, and would never, ever, want to be associated with me ever. It was all so terrifying to think about.

But then James was sucking my dick and nothing else mattered.  



	16. Shut Your Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Future!Fic. Kendall returns to L.A. six years after Big Time Rush disbanded. James has been missing for years. Imagine how things change when James reappears in his life. And he needs help.

**Title:** Shut Your Eyes  
 **Authors:**  [](http://goten0040.livejournal.com/profile)[ **goten0040**](http://goten0040.livejournal.com/)   and [](http://garnetice.livejournal.com/profile)[ **garnetice**](http://garnetice.livejournal.com/)    
 **Chapter:** 16  
 **Rating:** M  
 **Ship(s):** Kendall/James, Carlos/Stephanie, Logan/Camille, maybe more.  
 **Summary:** Future!Fic. Kendall returns to L.A. six years after Big Time Rush disbanded. James has been missing for years. Imagine how things change when James reappears in his life. And he needs help.  
 **Previous Chapters:**[1](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/852.html#cutid1), [2](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1274.html), [3](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1511.html#cutid1), [4](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1554.html#cutid1), [5](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1996.html#cutid1), [6](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2234.html), [7](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2308.html#cutid1), [8](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2649.html), [9](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2935.html#cutid1), [10](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/3210.html), [11](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/3342.html#cutid1), [12](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/3705.html#cutid1), [13](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/3896.html#cutid1), [14](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/4461.html#cutid1), [15](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/4834.html#cutid1)  


 

\---  
 

  
The blades of my shoulders hit the concrete at the exact moment James took the tip of my cock in his mouth, tonguing around the head before swallowing me whole. My hands scrabbled for purchase behind me, for something to grab on to, but my nails scraped dirty cement walls.

Less than ten seconds into it and I gave up. I dug my fingers into James’s scalp and tried to remember to breathe, tried to see past his hair to the way his lips were wrapped around me, but the club was dark and James needed a fucking haircut.

The glimpses I did catch were deliberate; him peering up through the fan of his lashes, eyebrows raised in lieu of an insolent smirk, pupils reflecting back what little light there was, making it dance. The occasional pale stretch of his neck or the curve of his cheekbone, the place where skin hollowed when he took me deeper.

And once, just once, his mouth stretched bright and red and- oh my fucking god.

My fingers curled, pulling a little, and I arched into him. James’s hand darted up, pressing firm and warm into my hip, keeping me from moving when I wanted to.

I think I made a noise.

I think it was loud.

I didn’t even have the presence of mind to be grateful for the cover of the pounding house music, for the synth crap that I’d been cursing all night. Strobe lights captured everything like stills from a movie, flashes from a camera, turning every angle of James into shades of white-washed gray.

Blowjobs, as a rule, are pure concentrated awesomeness, but I was almost as focused on the way James’s palm rested against my hipbone, firm against my skin, keeping me from rocking forward no matter how hard I pushed. I could feel his other hand wrapped around my thigh, thumb tracing the red line left by the inseam of my too-tight jeans.

He ran his tongue along the underside of my cock, painfully slow, his mouth all hot, wet suction. Then he pulled back for a second, teeth scraping feather light just along the tip, teasing, and he looked up at me in earnest. And it struck me then how filthy this was. The way my boxers were tangled around my calves and the crumpled denim at my ankles and the way some of James’s saliva was dripping down my thigh. The whole thing was _obscene_ , and it made it _better_.

James’s tongue darted out and he watched me, watched the way my mouth gaped open when he traced a slow circle around the head of my dick, his eyes fierce and dark and defiant, the strobe lights snapping my brain a picture I would store forever. He drew it out, almost seeming to relish the way my hips canted forward when he pressed closed mouthed kisses along the length of my shaft. Slow at first, he sucked me back in, until his nose was scraping up against my skin and this shiver of electricity arced from the base of my skull down my spine.

He began to restore a rhythm, tight, fast pulls, and I could feel a fine tremor building behind my thighs, in my toes, at the small of my back. And his goddamned hand pressed against me whenever I tried to make him speed up, whenever my body insisted on faster, more, _now_. He was completely in control.

Something about the way he touched me, about the way it was James’s callused fingertips bruising my skin, that it was his mouth making my stomach pool with molten want made it hotter, more intense. My hips never stopped trying to fuck up into him, my hands grasped at his hair, yanked, anything to pull him closer, and he just- opened wider and took it, like it was his life’s mission to get me off.

I could feel the hard thudthudthud of the bass through the wall at my back, and it got up under my ribcage like a second heartbeat. James did something, hummed or swallowed, his tongue curled around the underside of my cock, trailing little sparks of electricity that I could feel in my toes. I saw white.

And just like that, I was coming down his throat, my body trembling like the vibrations of a guitar string.

I stood there, panting, while James cleaned me up. His lips ghosted over the place on my hip where his hand had been, the spot that ached now because I’d been straining so hard. I wondered if there would be a bruise, a perfect imprint of his fingertips, like a brand. He pulled up my boxers, and then my pants.

Tentatively, I reached for the front of his jeans, but he batted my hand away. James tucked me back into my clothes, meticulous, doing up my belt buckle, making me shudder when the cold metal accidentally pressed against my feverish skin. His eyes flickered in the strobe; black, gray, shadows, light. Chiaroscuro, but never the familiar blue I’d always known, not even once. He was cold, alien, except for his hands.

When he threaded the leather of my belt through the last loop, he looked down at me like he was considering leaning in, like he wanted to kiss me, but when I started to tilt forward, he pulled away.

“Come on,” he said, practically shouting, but I could barely hear him over the blood rushing back to my head and the throbpoundbeat of some techno song.

His fingers wrapped around my wrist and we were back in the crowd, dancing again. Or, he was.

I wasn’t really feeling the whole moving thing at that particular moment, loose limbed and sated. James didn’t seem to mind, lost in his own head, letting the music carry him away.  


  
\---  
 

  
The thing was, and it was more than a little embarrassing to admit, but I’d fantasized about James.

It hadn’t meant anything; I’d fantasized about most of the attractive guys that drifted in and out of my life, from team mates to snotty Rocque Records interns to Logan and Carlos.

It didn’t even occur frequently.

Sometimes, when I was tired, and I couldn’t find the energy to imagine a hot celebrity or a flirty barista riding my dick, when I couldn’t quite recall the face of one of my back alley trysts, my mind wandered to faces it knew best. I’d always kind of figured everyone did it; thought of their best friends once or twice with their hand down their pants.

I mean, I was luckier than most people. My best friends happened to be freakishly attractive.

But it still always filled me with this sense of shame, of undeniable guilt that, back when we were on tour, made it hard to look them in the face in the mornings.

And with James, the guilt came full force.

‘Cause, see, I had a basis for the fantasies.

We were on tour. It was cramped and crowded and all kinds of horrible and wonderful at the same time. Four hormonal teenagers on a bus wasn’t exactly a recipe for success. We got sick of each other, quick.

Add in stadiums full of screaming girls who were more than a little hot for us, and we were horny.

Constantly.

Half of our alone time was spent imagining a face in the crowd, stroking ourselves with bitten lips, trying to muffle the sounds. I had Jo to talk me through it, her voice low and filthy on the other end of the phone, which staved off some of the temptation. But they guys?

It was like an ongoing competition to see if masturbation could really cause blindness.

I learned quick; the subtle signs of tension between Logan’s shoulders, the way Carlos would get this hungry look in his eyes. I knew, then, to avoid the bunks or the bathroom, to pop in my headphones or take up an impromptu game of Halo. Listening to the noises they made when they came was not high on my list of fun things to do.

Until the last leg of our tour.

It was well past midnight, and we had a string of interviews scheduled at the crack of dawn.

Every time I closed my eyes, my brain refused to shut down.

I was thinking about Jo, about how much it bothered me that she had some huge make out scene with that asshole Jett on New Town High. She told me she had to strip down, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about my girlfriend’s tits on national TV, even if it was just her bra.

I was thinking about the show, and how on we’d been that night, how James and Carlos had managed to get the crowd’s energy up, how they’d driven them wild. How Logan had nailed that back flip. How I’d sang my fucking heart out until my vocal chords were raw and scratchy. Kelly made me drink like, eighty cups of herbal tea.

And I was thinking about hockey, and how I hadn’t been in a rink in ages. I had all this pent up energy, all this leftover adrenaline from the show and from being trapped for a very long time in a very small, albeit very high tech speeding bus, but a speeding bus all the same.

I figured I should get up, move around a little bit. Try to settle my thoughts.

That worked for an entire five seconds. James was sitting on the couch, wearing pajama pants and an unzipped hoodie, bare-chested, head against the arm rest. I was about to ask if he had insomnia, and if he was up for a rousing game of zombie killing when I realized what he was doing.

I’d never thought about guys sexually. I noticed if they were attractive, yeah, sure, in a he’s-got-better/hair/abs/arms/eyes-than-I-did kind of way.

I’d even thought about what it would be like to kiss a guy, offhand.

I’d maybe even been a little turned on by my friends’ constant jacking off at the start of tour; it was half the reason I kept my headphones nearby.

So seeing that- it shouldn’t have been a revelation. But it was.

That moment stood out with stark clarity in my mind, standing there, barefoot, in my boxers, suddenly, ridiculously half hard. I couldn’t even see anything, except for the quick, jerky movement of his arm, the thrust of his hips, the moonlight on his tanned chest.

But I could hear the crinkle of his clothes, the way he bit back his gasps, the harsh rhythm of his breath.

And I didn’t move. I stood there, watching, watching, watching until he shifted, tugging the waistband of his pajamas down around his thighs, and then, I wouldn’t let myself look. I couldn’t take it.

I’d turned away long before he came, a drawn out groan echoing through the room before getting drowned out by the spin of the tires, the dull thud of asphalt racing sixty miles per an hour beneath our wheels.

My hand twitched over my dick, but I stopped myself from touching it, no matter how painfully hard I was.

I never did get any sleep that night.

Everything went downhill from there.

I’m not saying that James made me gay. I’m positive that if it hadn’t been that night, it would’ve been another, somewhere else, some other time. I had way more homoerotic thoughts than any heterosexual seventeen year old boy could justifiably have. But cliché as it was, James was my catalyst.

He was the reason I began my spiral of self doubt and shame, however inadvertent. After that, I couldn’t get that sound (that fucking hot, ridiculous sound) out of my head. It was this echo, the distant sound of thunder in my mind, no matter what I was doing.

Singing harmonies? Oh hey, that note James hit sounded just like- No.

Kissing Jo? Involved wishing her voice was deeper, more like- No. No, no, _no_.

Swimming? Yeah, guess what noise James made when he played poolside volleyball?

Eventually, denial didn’t cut it anymore.

I let myself look more carefully at other guys. That’s all it was, at first, this disinterested kind of curiosity.

I watched gay porn, once.

Then twice.

Then more often than I could ever actually count.

I got my first handjob from a stage hand at one of our concerts, a guy with shaggy brown hair and a killer smile. It was quick, and messy, and over too soon. When I returned the favor he left a stain on my jeans, and I was too scared to ever return them to the people in charge of BTR’s wardrobe. I wasn’t able to look Jo in the eye for weeks afterwards. It stretched on like that for months; a blowjob from a tall, lanky boy wearing dog tags in the supply closet at the Palm Woods. My first, horrendous time trying to give one, being directed around by a laughing surfer dude I met at the beach, whose skin was the gold brown of wet sand.

I met a boy at the Palm Woods with blue eyes on a sunny day in late summer.

Then, on a windy autumn night I got off against him in a slick wet alley where the streetlights shone like oil on the asphalt.

And then it happened again. Again. Again.

I broke Jo’s heart, all because of the day I heard the way my best friend sounded when he came.

So whenever he popped up in my wet dreams, the sound effects, even the facial expressions; it was all real. I hated myself for it, but I never dwelled on it. I never even considered him a viable possibility for fucking.

Back then, when the band was together, he was my best friend, legitimately. And I couldn’t eve comprehend risking that.

But now? What was I supposed to think now?  


  
\---  
 

  
James dragged me out for a cigarette (his eighteenth that night, it felt like) when the sky was turning a pale lavender hue. Morning was creeping up on Los Angeles like a wave, a gentle tsunami to devour us all.

All James was wearing was a thin t-shirt, and I looked at him then, really looked at the way his muscle tone stood out against his sallow skin, at the bruises lining the inside of his elbows like impressionist art in shades of blue and black, yellow, brown, and green.

I noticed the skin lower down on his forearm wasn’t perfect or unmarred, and I touched the place where it bubbled up, a near perfect circle that I hadn’t noticed last night on the roof.

“What’s this?”

“Would you believe I spilled my tea?”

I frowned at the perfectly round patch of blistered skin. Then I flatly said, “No.”

James shrugged.

I traced the cigarette burn again. The skin had blistered, but already the edges were healing, dry patches crinkling under my touch, pieces flaking away to reveal raw looking pink skin. I wondered how badly it would scar.

My fingers darted up to some of the older looking bruises, the track marks that were mostly healed.

James grabbed my wrist and said, “Stop. Stop touching me.”

His voice was strangled. I glanced up at him, and I didn’t know the expression on his face; half glare, half wide eyed wanting- but wanting what? I pressed my thumb into the closest mark and he hissed, but I didn’t know why. It couldn’t have hurt more than a tight pinch, anymore. I could feel his pulse threading through his veins though, so fast it was dizzying. He felt alive and real and solid.

Not like the pale specter of a person I saw when I met his eyes.

I wanted to ask him why he went down on me. Was it the drugs or- I couldn’t even think it.

So I said something really fucking stupid instead.

“When’s the last time you talked to your parents?”

His mouth tightened.

“I don’t actually think that’s any of your business.”

“Maybe you should write me a rulebook, dude. I’m getting a little confused about allowable topics of conversation.”

“Talk is cheap.”

“They say that,” I agreed, snatching the cigarette from his lips and taking a pull, “Am I the only one you clam up around?”

James looked away, the dim morning light making his cheekbones more angular, more cutting. I had a flash of how they looked back in the club, hollowed around my cock and I felt my face flush.

“Kendall, don’t-“

“I mean, do you talk to your friends? Do you even have friends?”

“Of course,” James snapped. I blinked.

“Okay. Who?”

“Joseph.”

Joseph? Who the fuck was Joseph?

Oh. Right. _Guitar Dude_.

I must have been making a face, because James said, “You’re such a fucking snob.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Why would I introduce you to my friends when you look at me like I’m diseased? You think they’re going to put up with your haughty, self important shit?”

What even?

“James-“

“No, you know what? You want to meet them? Sure, why not. It’s your funeral. Let’s go.”

“What? Right now? It’s like, five in the morning.”

“It’s seven. Get a watch. You can afford it.”

My mouth gaped open, and I was totally ignoring the insult. Seven? In the a.m.?

I guess it made sense, being nearly winter and everything, but shit. I hadn’t stayed up so late- or early- since my twenty first birthday. This was the time of morning I was usually waking up for practice, not prancing off to- what? A crack house? A whore house?

I didn’t even know.

And another thing was bothering me. That blowjob- James had been good. Too good.

Like he’d done it before.

Carefully, I looked at the rigid lines of his shoulders as he marched on ahead of me. I said, James, have you and- I mean, are you sleeping with, uh, Guit- Joseph?”

James frowned at me. Which didn’t answer my question in any way, shape, or form.

“Are you?” I prompted. He still didn’t answer. I sighed, and said, “Will they be awake right now?”

He didn’t answer that either.  


\---

  
[Chapter Seventeen](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/5215.html)  



	17. Shut Your Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Future!Fic. Kendall returns to L.A. six years after Big Time Rush disbanded. James has been missing for years. Imagine how things change when James reappears in his life. And he needs help.

**Title:** Shut Your Eyes  
 **Authors:**  [](http://goten0040.livejournal.com/profile)[ **goten0040**](http://goten0040.livejournal.com/)   and [](http://garnetice.livejournal.com/profile)[ **garnetice**](http://garnetice.livejournal.com/)    
 **Chapter:** 17  
 **Rating:** M  
 **Ship(s):** Kendall/James, Carlos/Stephanie, Logan/Camille, maybe more.  
 **Summary:** Future!Fic. Kendall returns to L.A. six years after Big Time Rush disbanded. James has been missing for years. Imagine how things change when James reappears in his life. And he needs help.  
 **Previous Chapters:**[1](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/852.html#cutid1), [2](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1274.html), [3](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1511.html#cutid1), [4](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1554.html#cutid1), [5](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1996.html#cutid1), [6](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2234.html), [7](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2308.html#cutid1), [8](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2649.html), [9](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2935.html#cutid1), [10](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/3210.html), [11](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/3342.html#cutid1), [12](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/3705.html#cutid1), [13](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/3896.html#cutid1), [14](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/4461.html#cutid1), [15](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/4834.html#cutid1), [16](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/4876.html#cutid1)

Chapter Seventeen

James’ hand was warm in mine as we slipped into an alleyway that could only be described as unsanitary. It was littered with trash and paraphernalia, and all together unlawful things. He dragged me up a rusty metal fire escape that curled and corkscrewed into the ground. When he opened the door, I was met with darkness, and a loud echo of said door’s hinges squealing.

“Watch your step,” James warned, though he didn’t sound particularly fearful for my safety.

The clang of metal underneath my feet surprised me as we made our way over some sort of catwalk and down a dangerously unstable ladder. Only when we reached the actual floor and James turned on the lights did I realize where James and his friends had nested.

We were in an old abandoned theatre. It was oddly quaint and perfect for James.

Some of the lamps flickered, and a good amount of them had died out probably years ago, but the lights managed to light at least a small portion of the stage, including a dilapidated, out of tune piano that was covered in a layer of dust. In fact, under the lights, I could see the dust almost glowing in spots in the air as we kicked it up with our steps. I could hear the distant sound of a guitar from somewhere in the audience seats, up in the mezzanine. I squinted up in into the dark, but I couldn’t see anything.

“Joseph,” James said, and his voice was loud and strong, directed to where the guitar was.

It stopped. I saw a silhouette leaning over the balcony, and heard a long drawl.

“Who the fuck is that?”

Hell of a greeting.

“It’s Kendall, remember? Come down here. I don’t feel like yelling at you. Lazy ass.”

I suddenly felt very uncomfortable, almost like a third wheel. James’ shoulders hadn’t sagged in such relief in a long time. He didn’t talk to me so easily, without guards, not like he did to Joseph. And when Joseph finally made his way up the stage, pushing a long piece of hair behind his ear and giving me a strange look that I couldn’t quite read. I noted the way he moved, like his limbs were too heavy for him, and I recognized it as the same way James acted when he was on the nod.

“What’s up?” he asked. His trademark greeting. It was actually a little nice to hear, though it sounded completely unenthusiastic.

“Not much…” I barely got out before Joseph looked to James.

“Why is he here?”

“He’s not gonna call the cops. Chill the fuck out. Where’s Danika and Zack?”

I gave James a sideways glance, swallowing. I didn’t know any Danika and Zack. How little was he telling me?  
Yeah, I know. That was a stupid question.

“Fuck if I know, dude. Danni’s around here somewhere, I think.”

“Cool,” James murmured.

“So where have you been hanging around, Jamie? Silver spoon’s?” He gave a pointed look at me and I shrunk back a little. I was completely out of my element, so it was hard for me to argue, much as it pissed me off. I wasn’t born with a silver spoon into my mouth. I just lucked into the good career which I so happened to share with James.

“Fuck off, Joe.” James nudged him in the arm with his fist.

Joseph was a little more hostile when he pushed James back. “Did you get it? You better not have been fucking around.”

“Here. Christ.” James put a small bag of what I assumed was heroin in Joseph’s hand. “There’s your share. Now stop being an ass.”

Joseph just snorted, making his way across the stage. I watched him as he walked, the slight wiggle to his so-thin hips that reminded me a lot of James. God. He was so skinny. He was so much skinnier than James, and his skin was lighter, his cheekbones more defined, eyes darker. I didn’t like it. It meant James still had a ways to go and I didn’t want to think that he could look any worse. He disappeared behind one of the ratty, dusty curtains.

“That was nice,” I said dryly, trying to ease the tension.

“He’s just jonesing,” James replied, stepping over to the piano and grazing a couple of flat notes.

“So this is where you’ve been staying?”

“Yeah, sorry it’s not a swanky apartment,” James grunted, playing a few more notes that clashed horribly, almost like his mood.

He was acting like I was insulting him, judging him, when I wasn’t. I really couldn’t focus on the dingy theatre or the fact that Guitar Dude was somewhere off to the side of the stage shooting up. Because I kept looking at James and seeing flashes of him sucking me off, his eyelashes fanned out over his hollowed cheeks in the strobe light. Yeah, fuck the theatre. I wanted to know why he had gotten so interested in my dick.

“I didn’t expect it—“

“No, of course you didn’t.”

I grimaced. James was definitely on a low. I found myself wishing he’d pop those sweet-tart-looking-pills and be fun again. Which made me feel even worse.

“So…” I tried again. “Who’s Danika and Zack?”

“Just a couple of people that chill with us,” James said, not really elaborating. After a moment, he looked up from under his hair, still playing quietly on the piano, and it was so flat that I couldn’t recognize the melody. “They’re fucking _each other_ if you’re so concerned.”

I wasn’t. But the fact that he thought I was meant he was thinking about what happened too. After a few minutes of listening to James play, I perked to the sound of a thud. I turned to the side of the stage where Joseph had disappeared. As if to accentuate where he was, a syringe rolled languidly into a sliver of light.

“Is he okay?” I asked.

James got up and closed the distance, leaning over Guitar Dude’s form in the shadow of the curtain.

“He’s fine.”

Furthest statement from the truth. Drugging oneself into unconsciousness didn’t seem very fine to me.  
Still, with him out, we were technically alone again.

“Um…” I started. “Why…”

“Don’t,” James said.

“But-“

“Just don’t.”

And then the door from above swung open and I jolted at the sudden sound. There was a few minutes of clanging feet, and then down they came, who I figured was Danika and Zack. Danika was a skinny girl with bright blue eyes and platinum hair, with raggedy clothes that probably came from a Hot Topic at some point, especially the fishnet leggings and the Doc Martins. Zack was her perfect counterpart, oddly enough, definitely an older rocker type with green hair. He was carrying two boxes that smelled strongly of garlic. Pizza.

“Jamie! Baby!” Danika was overjoyed, throwing her skeletal arms around his neck and kissing him on the cheek. “Where you have you been, honey?”

“Out,” James replied.

She pulled back and glanced at me, her heavily makeup-ed face curious and looking way more aged than she was.

“New fuck?”

“Not exactly,” James said.

She smirked. “Old fuck?”

“Still no.”

“Huh. Whatever. Where’s Joe?”

She didn’t wait for an answer, clopping away with her hands on her hips.

“She’s pretty hard to keep up with,” Zack said to me. “I’m Zack. She’s Danika. And you are?”

“Kendall,” I said, and my voice felt small in my throat.

“Nice to meet you.” His voice was low and raspy, and a little part of me wanted to hear him sing because I just knew he had a kickass singing voice.

But I didn’t focus on that long because of what Danika had said. New fuck? Old fuck? So that meant James had been fucking guys, because why else would she have assumed?

I mean, besides the fact that he’d kind of blown me in the club, but she didn’t know that.

And it was fucking with me a lot. How long had James been gay? Had he been gay that night I’d seen him jerking off? Had he been envisioning a man when he panted and whimpered, coming into his own hand? If he had, all those years of me worrying myself over my secret felt a little wasted, because I could have shared it with a kindred spirit. It made me wonder if James’ drug abuse came from not only his fall from fame, but the same devastation that came from fighting with his sexuality, just like I had been battling for so long. If that was the case, it meant that the line between him and me was even more blurred. It meant that his choices were just that much closer to what I could have done. I was just a little bit closer to living in his world.

“James, you gotta quit dragging people here. You’re gonna blow our cover.”

I grimaced again. That hurt too. There was something in me that made me think I was special, that James wanted me to know his friends. I mean, yeah, they weren’t the most welcoming bunch, but I didn’t think he dragged back everyone he…

How many cocks had he sucked? How many people had he brought back to that dirty theatre?

I shuddered, then forced the questions out of my mind. Just because he’d brought people back to that theatre didn’t mean that he’d blown them too.

“Lay off. He’s not gonna call the cops or anything. Joe was just as bad.”

“You’re the one always bringing home strays,” Zack said, eying me like I was exactly that. “’Cept they’re not usually so clean. Where’d you pick this guy up?” Then, he paused, looking me up and down. “Hey, wait a second. Is this one of those guys from that group you were in? Big Time Rush?”

James scowled like it was a bad memory. It made my heart ache.

“Yep. That’s him.”

I wanted to tell James not to sound so ashamed of me, but I couldn’t find words. I was feeling a little ashamed of myself for not living up to what he seemed to have wanted.

“You gonna stick around tonight?” Zack asked.

“No,” James answered for me. “I only brought him here to shut him up.”

“Damn, whatever, man,” Zack looked amused, trotting over to Danika who was trying to nurse up Guitar Dude. “Well, welcome to our digs, dude. Hope you know how to keep your mouth shut.”

“Man, he’s out,” Danika said, tucking Joe into a position that looked mildly more comfortable and slipping off her leather jacket and covering him up. “How much did he take?”

James shrugged. “Not my business.”

Danika frowned at James. “You could at least try to limit him. You know how he overdoes it.” So Danika was the motherly type. It was weird to see it come from someone with a nose ring and caked on eyeliner. “Now he’s not gonna eat.”

James snorted. “Eat what?”

“You’re testy today,” she said. I couldn’t help but agree. “Zack chatted up a Dominoes guy. We got some pizzas. You didn’t notice?” She chuckled. “Were you too caught up in your new stray’s pretty green eyes?”

James’ jaw tightened, and he looked almost flustered. It was new on his features, almost refreshing. Sometimes I wondered if James felt anything at all.

“You hungry, sweetie?” Danika asked me, and, yeah, I was, but I didn’t want to take their food when I could afford to eat.

“Uh, I’m good, thanks.”

“Don’t be shy. Just grab a slice. It’s cool.”

I shook my head. “I’m not hungry. You guys go ahead.”

James and Zack and Danika ate right up. James ate like he’d never been fed. Then again, I hadn’t really seen him eat much around me. I wondered why he was so afraid to eat in front of me. Did he feel like I was judging him?

“Don’t eat too much, Jamie,” Danika warned. “You know what happens when you overeat.”

“Same thing that happened to you when you were a teenager and you ate anything at all?” James gave her a pretty cruel grin and she delivered a boot-clad kick to his side. He winced.

“Fuck you.”

It was like pleasant conversation.

I sat a bit further away, physically and socially out of their loop. There was a connection between the three of them – and probably the unconscious body of Guitar Dude – that I wasn’t a part of. I found myself envying them a little bit. Because they had taken that from me. James used to have that connection with me and Logan and Carlos and no one else. We used to be a team, a group, a band – call it whatever, we were one. And now I was on the outside looking in and I didn’t like it.

It was lonely.

I wondered if anyone else felt that way about us.

“So how’d you chat up this pizza guy?”

“Pretty easy. Convinced him I was in the Foo Fighters. Dude was, like, spazzing out.”

They laughed goodheartedly, like they were a family around Thanksgiving dinner.

I felt alone.

…

James ate too much pizza.

He heaved in the alley, and I watched from the opposite wall as he spilled his much-needed dinner all over the ground. When he pulled back, he was wiping his mouth with one hand and holding his stomach with the other.

“You okay?” I asked.

James gave me a one shoulder shrug and then sat on the wall next to me. He sighed. “Kinda surprised you’re still here. Thought you woulda ditched me for the other side of the tracks by now.”

“Nope,” I said. “Still here.”

Mainly because I wanted to talk to him but couldn’t gather the nerve. Actually, no. I knew if I left I would worry I’d never see him again, and I’d be itching for him again in just a short amount of time. I was addicted to the addict. How poignant.

“So that’s your group, huh? You guys seem to take care of each other.”

“Eh. Danika tries to keep us in line, but she’s no better. She gets plenty strung out.” He paused, then elaborated. “Meth head. She used to be bulimic, fucked up her acting career.” James lit a cigarette and puffed on it a little. “Zack led a pretty awesome punk band, but they couldn’t get out from underground and fell into smack and whatever.” Zack was a pretty nice guy, clearly talented. It sucked that he didn’t have his band, I had to admit. “He gave me my first hit of smack.”

I suddenly hated Zack.

“What about Guit--- Joseph?” I asked. “What happened to him?”

“You didn’t know?” James looked at me, surprised. “He went right down with me. You know how we were partying so much that last year when you left.”

I didn’t want to think the drugs had started before I even left, so I said nothing else on it.

“They’re… nice.”

I looked up at the sky. The sun had risen. It was probably about ten in the morning. My sleep schedule was all fucked up. I leaned against James’ shoulder. He didn’t tense, and I was relieved.

“So you’re always bringing guys back here, huh?”

“They’re exaggerating.”

“When did you know… that you were… you know…”

“Gay? I dunno. It just kind of happened.” He was evading the question, really. “Fuck, that pizza was good. Wish I could’ve digested it.”

I knew from being around Logan for so long that if someone didn’t eat for a long time and then ate too much, their body would reject it, and it was killing me to think that James had been through that.

“How ya’ feelin’, Jamie?” came a voice from up on the stairs. It was Zack.

“Better, thanks,” he said up to him. “How’s Joe?”

“He’s awake. Saved him a few slices. Said he wasn’t hungry.”

James rolled his eyes. “He’s never hungry.”

“Yeah.” And even from down below, I could hear the un-comfortableness in Zack’s voice. “I know.”

“Let Joe be Joe, Zack.”

I stared at James.

…

By the time I reached my apartment, it was mid-afternoon and my entire body ached. And James and I still hadn’t spoken about what had happened at the club. The stairs didn’t look massively tempting. I was exhausted, physically and mentally. And, oddly enough, Joseph was on my brain, because he looked so much worse than James on a bad day, so much thinner, paler… so much more… lost.

James still had a chance of saving. I wanted to think so at least.

As soon as the elevator doors closed, James slid his hand from my shoulder to my ass, smirking as I shuddered.  
It was as if he didn’t want me to forget what he had done to me. But there was something malicious in his smile, like he was a beast that wanted to eat me alive.

I was a little worried about where we were going. I mean, what the hell were we doing? Was it always going to be that way? Just a long stream of ups and downs where he was blowing me one day and then giving me the cold shoulder the next?

There was no way I could agree with that.

Well, maybe there was one or two, but my brain kept getting frazzled when he was nibbling at my earlobe.  
The elevator dinged and I shoved him so hard he stumbled into the opposite wall. He gave me a look halfway between anger and amusement. I gave a hitched breath, nervous, and stepped out with him right on my tail.

“What’s wrong with you?” James asked, languidly slipping his arm around my waist until I jerked away from him. “Are you ashamed of me?”

A little. He pinned me against my door, and my eyes scanned for other people and found none. I looked James in the eyes and they were glassy, so much like before.

“What did you take?”

“I had one more hit of ecstasy in my pocket,” he chuckled, placing a few kisses down my jaw line. “And you’re an easy target.”

“Uh, uh, uh okaaay---“ I stammered, pushing him away, flustered, and unlocking the door. He followed me in. “Shouldn’t you get back to… um…”

“Hey, you’re the one that was moaning and groaning back at that club,” James said, looking way too much like his old narcissistic self. “You were all over me.”

“What?” I was actually astounded at his gall. Who the fuck did he think he was to accuse me of being all over him? I had already risked my public image by letting him do what he did in the club. I hadn’t been thinking clearly. The heat and the music paralyzed me to the wall. That was all.

I really suck at convincing myself of things sometimes.

“You’re out of your mind. That was all you.”

James scraped his teeth against my neck and I felt a groan rise in my throat, my instincts tilting my head and allowing him more access, which he took with a growl.

“ _All_ me?” James asked, slipping his hand up my shirt. “Are you sure of that?”

“W-well, maybe not _all_ you. B-but most— _ohhh_ \---mostly--- you…” My sentences were getting more jagged. I was losing my head again.

I knew that James had been my catalyst, sent me off the deep end into the pool that was my sexuality, but goddamn. When did he have so much power over me? Every time I tried to slide my hands over to his hips, he’d bat them away. He devoured my neck, knocking me up against the door. I made a frustrated sound, trying to grab at his belt loops, and he pinned my wrists back, next to my head. I grunted, pulling away from him as much as I could.

“Do you just get off on controlling me or what?” I snapped.

James’ ministrations stopped, and he looked at me with wide, feral eyes. “Last I checked, it was you who was getting off.”

“James—“

“Shut up,” he commanded, kissing me hard on the mouth, and I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

It was weird. I had had James’ hands on my throat before. But, hot as it was, I had never felt more like I was being strangled.  



	18. Shut Your Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Future!Fic. Kendall returns to L.A. six years after Big Time Rush disbanded. James has been missing for years. Imagine how things change when James reappears in his life. And he needs help.

**Title:** Shut Your Eyes  
 **Authors:**  [](http://goten0040.livejournal.com/profile)[ **goten0040**](http://goten0040.livejournal.com/)   and [](http://garnetice.livejournal.com/profile)[ **garnetice**](http://garnetice.livejournal.com/)    
 **Chapter:** 18  
 **Rating:** M  
 **Ship(s):** Kendall/James, Carlos/Stephanie, Logan/Camille, maybe more.  
 **Summary:** Future!Fic. Kendall returns to L.A. six years after Big Time Rush disbanded. James has been missing for years. Imagine how things change when James reappears in his life. And he needs help.  
 **Previous Chapters:**[1](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/852.html#cutid1), [2](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1274.html), [3](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1511.html#cutid1), [4](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1554.html#cutid1), [5](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1996.html#cutid1), [6](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2234.html), [7](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2308.html#cutid1), [8](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2649.html), [9](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2935.html#cutid1), [10](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/3210.html), [11](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/3342.html#cutid1), [12](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/3705.html#cutid1), [13](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/3896.html#cutid1), [14](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/4461.html#cutid1), [15](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/4834.html#cutid1), [16](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/4876.html#cutid1), [17](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/5215.html)

 

\---

  
I didn’t let James blow me in the hallway.

He got as far as unbuckling my belt, my shirt already rucked up around my ribs. I was still lost in the way he’d gripped my throat, his thumb and index finger brushing against my pulse points; the way his palm pressed into my jugular every time I swallowed. It was still there, dry heat against my skin while he mouthed a line down the front of my chest, his breath warming my abdomen, his tongue hot and wet. It was only when other hand began to fumble with the metal of the buckle, thumb grazing from the button of my jeans to the trail of hair leading down my navel that I jerked away, struggling out of his grip.

“You don’t want to?”

I frowned at him, and I didn’t know what I wanted. Yeah, fuck, yeah, I was turned on, but- I didn’t like the way James made it so easy to give up control. I didn’t like having my life in his hands because I didn’t trust him, not completely.

“I’m tired,” I said, and I shoved my hands in my pockets in an attempt to hide the way my dick twitched in my jeans.

“Yeah?”

He didn’t look like he believed me. At all.

“I am,” I insisted.

“I think you’re just scared one of the neighbors will see,” he challenged, and he dangled my keys in front of my face. I wondered where he’d gotten them, but shit, he said it himself. I was an easy target, for pick pocketing as well as everything else.

“Maybe,” I shrugged, sounding a whole hell of a lot more nonchalant than I felt, “You coming?”

“Are you going to behave if I do?”

I had no idea what the fuck he meant by behaving, but by the hungry way he was staring at me, I figured I could guess.

“Come in and find out.”

He cocked an eyebrow, and his eyes darted away to the horrible paint job framing my door, going distant, like he was weighing the pros of possible sex with the cons of being trapped in a small space with me.

“Alright.”

Fingers trembling, ever so slightly, I watched him slide the key into the deadbolt. His face was relaxed, confident, but from the hard line of his shoulders I could tell he was nervous, and I didn’t know why. It wasn’t like this was James’s first time stepping into my apartment. But I was anxious too, my hands inadvertently clenching into fists at my sides.

I followed him inside with a sigh, and at least the threat of a public coming out party was gone. It was one weight off of my shoulders.

Except now James was on his knees in front of me, already working on the front of my jeans, and my dick actually hadn’t forgotten that we’d been in the middle of something before I so rudely interrupted.

God, he was hot, and that was weird, thinking about how sexy he actually was.

I watched, wide eyed, as James pulled me from my boxers, not even bothering to shove them down. He was staring at my cock with this narrow-eyed intensity, and for a second, I didn’t want to say anything. I wanted to stay there, with his callused hand wrapped around me. To let him suck me off in afternoon sunlight, the whole of Los Angeles visible from my balcony.

And here’s the thing. I’m not exactly the epitome of self control. I like instant gratification, probably a lot more than I should. If I was a girl, the word slut probably would have been thrown around more than a handful of times in high school. Mustering up strength, right at that moment? Was impossibly hard.

James breathed on the tip, his lips following his exhalation, and I allowed myself one second of unadulterated bliss in the wet, hot cage of his mouth before I said, “Wait.”

He groaned, “What the fuck is it now?”

I was going to do the right thing. I _was_ , okay? I was going to ask him what the hell this was, before it went any further. Before I took advantage of something that mattered, _again_.

But James had some of the most intense eyes I’d ever seen, this golden topaz color that bored right into me, and I could feel my body heat inside, from my knees to my kidneys, and fuck. He leaned in and licked a stripe up the underside of my cock and murmured against the skin, “Yeah?”

“Could you- take off your shirt this time?”

James smirked. He leaned back on his feet and in one, lithe movement he yanked the tee straight over his head. It landed somewhere in the general vicinity of my never used blender in the kitchen, but I wasn’t exactly following its trajectory. My vision was glued to James’s chest. He was skinnier than I remembered, but his muscles were still vaguely defined, like a picture gone fuzzy with time. His nipples stood out, dark enough that they were clearly outlined. The last guy I slept with, the hooker, had nipples that sort of faded into the rest of his skin, but James’s…

It occurred to me that I’d already known what he was going to look like. I’d seen him at the pool, in the showers after hockey practice a thousand times. I’d already known, but I’d wanted to prove it to myself; that this was still James. That letting myself get involved like this was a bad idea. Forbidden. Except-

Like I said, I lack self control.

I dropped down onto my knees, wanting to kiss him, wanting to touch, but before I had the chance to do anything, he lunged, hands shoving my shoulders to the ground. If Logan didn’t like me sleeping on the floor, I wondered how he’d feel about this?

Logan wasn’t what I wanted to think about right then.

I stared at James, at the way he licked his lips, wincing a little at his fingers digging into my shoulders.

“Do you want me?”

“I- want to touch you,” I mumbled, and it was less embarrassment slurring my words than hazy creep of arousal, numbing my brain. I thrust my hips up for emphasis, and James grinned, feral.

“It’s not your turn right now,” he instructed, even though I could feel the length of him pressing hard into my right thigh.

In that moment, I didn’t care if James was one of my oldest friends. I didn’t care if things got messy and even more fucked between us. The city could have burned, and I don’t think I would’ve been able to muster up more than vague interest. Because who needed to talk? This was James, my oldest, fondest wet dream, and he wanted me, he wanted to _get me off_. Again.

He took me in his mouth, and this time I could see the whole thing perfectly.  


  
\---

  
When I woke up the next morning, James was curled into my body, his limbs long and graceful. It took careful maneuvering to extract myself from the tangle we’d become.

The previous night James had made me come, twice. Afterwards, we’d curled up in front of my plasma screen watching John Hughes movies that I sort of hated, but he seemed absolutely enraptured by. We fell asleep well past two, when I realized that we’d both been up for over twenty four hours. I’d practically had to force James into bed, which he hadn’t taken too kindly to.

I wasn’t going to wait for him to wake up; his moods were too capricious, and there was every chance in the world that he’d bolt. I had a mission, and I damn well planned on completing it before he scarpered off to his hole in the wall. Maybe it was all the attention my dick had gotten yesterday, which I was not keen on giving up any time soon, or maybe it was my inner good guy trying to set me back on track, but I was resolved.

I went about my business as quick as possibly, picking up two coffees on the way back home and hoping that James wasn’t awake yet.

With the eleven am light filtering through my blinds, his hair shone like a halo. I waved one of the coffee cups in front of his nose, still wanting to touch him but not sure if that was allowed. After a minute or two, his eyes flickered open.

“Hi,” James murmured, stretching languidly. He never had put his shirt back on, and I could follow his skin down, down, beneath my comforter, where the blanket had either been artistically arranged or was tenting for a reason.

I was tempted to yank it off, to see if I could force any fun sounds out of James, but he didn’t even seem interested in sex at the moment. He was staring at the coffee cup in my hand with a mixture of awe and adoration, “Is it black?”

“Strong and disgusting, just the way you like it,” I agreed, because yeah, six years had passed, but I could still remember my best friend’s coffee order.

“You’re god,” James told me, without a hint of sarcasm. He made grabby hands towards the cup, and I handed it to him with a smile.

It was nice to know I could still do something right.

“Did you get this from Diedrich’s?”

“I did,” I affirmed. I drove all the way to fucking Santa Monica to get it, even though there was a Starbucks on every other corner. It was just- I remembered, a long time ago, James used to love their coffee. The out of the way drive hadn’t seemed like such a huge deal.

“It might be a little cold. I popped it in the microwave, but I didn’t want to melt the cup.”

“It’s fine. I can’t believe you- I always end up getting this instant drip crap from Seven Eleven or Circle K, when I even bother,” James said, and his voice was so casual, so sweet that I didn’t bother making some kind of dig about why exactly it was that he wouldn’t bother.

“I didn’t even know you went out,” James continued, and it was weird to see him so chatty when he wasn’t high. And not just chatty- but, _genuine_. No morose stares, no hard-edged irony, none of the addled confusion or the hard to swallow secrecy.

“You sleep like the dead,” I said, and then I winced, because I honestly didn’t know if talking about dead people was some kind of faux pas with an addict, with someone who dealt with people who looked like walking corpses all the time.

James didn’t seem to mind though; he laughed, delighted and open. The sunlight hit his cheekbones, and unlike when I first woke up, James turned into it, like he relished mornings.

And then it occurred to me that _yeah_ , he actually did.

Back when the band was still together he was always oversleeping; we all were, actually, except for Carlos, who theorized that sleep was boring when there were shopping carts to launch into the stratosphere and shoes to shop for. James was even voted the one most likely to sleep through his alarm. I’d gotten a modicum of responsibility drilled into my head, and Logan loved to be punctual. But unlike me and Logan, when James finally, eventually woke, he’d always be full of instant energy.

Give him a cup of coffee and he’d launch himself out into the world, to jog or sing or do just about anything.

I’d never understood it; I needed some cereal, some coffee, and a few hours of dazed shambling before I could pull myself out of grogginess. It made hockey practice a nightmare; I was never on top of my game until afternoon hit.

“This is delicious.”

I shook my head, already emptying some sugar into my own cup.

“It smells like gasoline,” I said, dubious.

“Have a little coffee with your sugar,” he suggested, wry, eyeing the other four packets I’d already poured in.

“And it does not. Just because you’re a girl and need to dilute it,” he rolled his eyes, “You don’t drink coffee, you drink dessert.”

“I love coffee,” I protested.

“Mmm,” he made a disinterested noise, “Shush now, I’m drinking deliciousness.”

“Might as well just mainline it,” I mumbled, and then I froze.

James, lips poised over his cup, glanced up at me. I saw his eyes flash with something like shame before he shrugged, “There’s an idea.”

We finished our cups in utter silence.

I finally broke it, shoving a bag on James’s lap.

“I got you something.”

“What is this?” he looked at the gift like it was about to rear up and attempt to eat his face.

“Open it.”

James gave me a look, but he did what I said, pulling out a glossy box about the size of his palm.

“Kendall,” he said, voice low and a little irritated, “What is this?”

“It’s a phone.”

“I see that. What am I supposed to do with it?”

“I bought it for you.”

“You- what?”

“I bought you a phone. Please don’t sell it for coke.”

“I don’t do coke. Often,” he frowned, “Why the fuck would you do that?”

“I don’t like not being able to reach you.”

He rolled his eyes, and said, “Fuck you. I don’t need a leash.”

“It’s not- look, you don’t have to use it. I didn’t have like, a GPS tracker installed on it. But I figured- you spend a lot of time outside of my apartment. Maybe next time you can like, call, so I can let you in?”

“Or you could give me a key.”

“Would you steal my TV?”

James shrugged. He wasn’t even looking at me anymore. He was studying my walls, and the color that someone who wasn’t me had picked out. Beige, seriously, who even thought of beige as a legitimate color?

“Look, I don’t care what you do with it. I just- I’d be happier knowing you have one. I’ll even delete the number from mine.”

I took out my phone, where I’d already programmed in the information under the watchful eye of a bored looking college aged salesperson. I scrolled down to his name, finger poised over the option to delete.

He grabbed my wrist and sounding a bit annoyed with himself, said, “Stop. Keep it. I don’t care.”

“Okay. Do me a favor?”

“Another one?” His eyes bugged a little.

Yes, because I could see how keeping a present was such a trial. I said, “Don’t sell it. If you need money, I can-“

“I can get money myself,” he snapped, “Mostly.”

I knew I was going to hate myself for it, but there was a question that had been bothering me for a while. Tentatively, I said, “Speaking of, um, what happened? To yours?”

Because, and I didn’t want to brag, but the band made a lot of money. We were in the very, very high millions. James probably made even more than I did; he had all these modeling gigs and acting jobs on the side, not to mention the signing bonus alone for his solo album. And I knew a drug habit could drain a bank account, but realistically, I didn’t think he could spend as much money as we’d made, even if he was shooting heroin made of gold.

He looked very much like he wanted to pretend he didn’t know what I meant. But he finally mumbled, “I donated it.”

I hadn’t expected that answer.

“What?”

“Half to my mom and dad, a quarter to charity. The rest I spent on useless shit that got, um, repossessed. Or drugs.”

“Why would you- that’s a lot of cash, James-“

“I know.”

“But you could be living in a real house right now, and-“

Now he was definitely pissed. He growled, “I’m sorry my accommodations aren’t up to your standards, asshole.”

“That’s not what I mean, James. At all.”

Except maybe it was, just a little. I didn’t like the idea of him barred up in that theater like August fucking Rush, with a bunch of straggly haired drug addicts. Every time I closed my eyes I imagined Joseph’s oily skin, the way it had sort of hung off his bones, and how terribly, grotesquely skinny he was and- I didn’t want that for James. I didn’t want that to be his life.

“I fucking know, alright?” he raked a hand through his hair and sighed, saying, “When I figured out that I- everything was happening so damned fast, and I’m not- responsibility isn’t my strong suit. I just thought it would be a better idea to keep it out of my hands, alright?”

“Alright,” I frowned, a new idea forming, because I wasn’t a mathematician, but something was not adding up, “When- uh, did you do that?”

“Years ago.”

“Okay, but-“ I bit my lip and asked, “How many years ago?”

James didn’t answer. I’d noticed that was his preferred method of not dealing with things. Which meant that this was probably something he didn’t want to deal with, which meant- oh god.

“You weren’t- you didn’t take anything while, um-“ I couldn’t even bring myself to finish the sentence.

James tilted his head and in a controlled voice he said, “I didn’t want the band to break up.”

“But- you wanted to go solo.”

“When I was sixteen.”

“I _distinctly_ remember you talking about doing an album later than that.”

All James had ever talked about were his songs, the lyrics he’d penned all by himself, without Gustavo or me or any of us. And they were good. I remembered sitting in the warm glow of his room, reading over a few pages, and thinking that they were so fucking good. The only reason his album flopped was because he hadn’t used a single one of them. He’d let his new producer dictate what he would sing, and when James didn’t approve of a song, the whole world could tell. When I first heard the thing, I remembered wondering how they’d even bribed him into opening up his mouth.

“As a side project,” James grit his teeth, “Don’t you get it? You guys were fucking everything.”

And yeah, maybe that was sentiment I could understand, but- It never seemed like it, back then. James had never seemed like he needed us, not really. Sure, he got a bit lost when Hawk tried to win him over that one time, but- he would have been fine, without us. He should have been fine when he finally got his chance.

Unless he’d somehow already gotten in over his head.

“James, were you taking drugs when you were still in the band?”

“Does it even matter now?”

“Yeah. It matters. It really, really matters, dude. How could you even think about putting us all at risk like that? Do you know what a drug scandal would have done for Logan’s career? For mi-“

I slammed my mouth shut, but James had already guessed what I was going to say.

“For yours?” he snorted, still watching anything and everything that wasn’t me, “It all turned out okay, didn’t it?”

“No,” I said, vehement, “This is not okay.”

“It wasn’t heroin,” he said finally, “Just- little things. Recreational shit. It wasn’t a problem. Until it was.”

“Why didn’t I know?”

“You were a little bit- distracted, I guess. You were always distracted back then.”

It sounded like the accusation it was. I wondered if he thought even worse of me now that he knew why I’d been so distracted, all the time. When he knew I’d been thinking of blue eyes and the way another boy’s mouth felt against mine instead of paying attention to my friends.

I should have known. I wouldn’t have even known what to look for, but I still should have-

“But why wouldn’t you come to me, or Logan, or Carlos, or- anyone?”

“Kendall, we were falling apart. I was trying to put myself back together. It didn’t- I didn’t get out of control until afterwards, until I started working on my album. I’d worked my entire life to build my career, and when I finally got there, when I finally got everything I wanted- I didn’t want it anymore. And that just made it worse, because I love music. I love the way it can change a person,” he paused, forcing out, “I hate that it couldn’t save me.”

Carefully, I asked, “Do you think you need to be saved?”

He scowled at me, tugging the blankets up around his neck and muttering, “I’m not a moron, alright?”

“I know that. I just- you don’t really seem like you’re trying.”

“I told you, I went to the methadone clinic. Twice.”

“Okay, but have you ever checked into rehab, or-“

“You know, I really don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“James, I just want to help.”

“I don’t _need_ your help,” he fumed, and I was pretty sure that he was seriously considering punching me in the face. He was climbing out of bed, wearing only his boxers, and I didn’t have time to admire the sight because I was more than a little rage-filled myself.

“Then what do you want from me? Explain it, because I have no fucking clue.”

And I didn’t. I didn’t understand anything; why I could picture James’s mouth on my dick when all I wanted was to be a good friend, and why he kept killing himself over and over and over when he was so much smarter than this. I didn’t get why all my feelings for the guy I’d known my whole life and this new, foreign stranger of a boy wearing his face were getting all muddled. I needed clarity, and I was so fucking pissed that I wasn’t getting any.

James made a face, this put out diva face that was so fucking familiar, but looked so very wrong with his emaciated features. His skin tugged tight over his cheekbones and my heart thudded, and I thought- I wanted- something. The problem was, I wasn’t sure what.

“Nothing,” he growled, low and dangerous, “I don’t need anything from you at all.”

“If that’s true, then why do you keep _coming back_?”

His mouth gaped open, “I-“

“Why are you in my bed right now?”

“If you don’t want me here-“

“I’m not saying that.”

He sneered at me, backing towards the nearest door, the one leading into the bathroom.

“No, of course not, because you’ll take sex wherever you can get it. Hookers, even.”

“ _That’s not fair_. James, you’re my best friend. Of course I want you here.”

“I wish you’d stop saying that.”

“Saying what?”

“That I’m your _best friend_.”

“But you are.”

“Best friends don’t go six years without talking. I used to be your best friend. Now I don’t even know you.”

“You’re still-“

“I’m really not. I’m a former friend, an ex friend. Whatever you used to see in me- It’s not there anymore.”

“Really? Because I think it is.”

“You’re a terrible judge of character.”

I shrugged, because yeah, I kind of was. Mom always said I was beyond lucky to have James, Carlos, and Logan, because the people I attracted on my own tended to be losers and douchebags. Mom and Katie always said it was because I was too nice, because I refused to acknowledge that anyone had less than stellar motives for anything, that I didn’t like to refuse anyone anything.

Which was sweet of them, because I’d overheard my grandmother telling my mom that I was just like my jackass of a father; that I didn’t know how to discriminate between good people and scum and I’d end up fucking everyone over for it, just like he did.

For the record, I’d always known how to discriminate. But why should I? It had nothing at all to do with being a good person. People were people, and some of them were dysfunctional, fucked up, but they were still people. I wasn’t going to ignore some homeless guy at a train station because he smelled weird or had fallen on hard times, the same way I wouldn’t ignore some rich girl on the street.

So yeah, maybe that made me a bad judge of character. But it didn’t make me wrong about James.

He half-hissed, “Just because you’re, I don’t know, damaged but still looking for redemption, doesn’t mean that I have to be. I don’t need your pity, and I definitely don’t need your fucking charity.”

“James,” I said, but he had already backed into the bathroom, his feet spread on the cold linoleum, his body silhouetted by the dim bare-bulbed light I’d meant to fix at least three days ago, “ _James_!”

He slammed the bathroom door in my face.

“Great. See, I still fucking know you. You’re still very melodramatic!” I called after him.

“Go fuck yourself,” he snarled from behind the door, and then I heard the rusty twinge of the shower dial twisting.

I muttered, “I’d rather you come out here and do it yourself.”

Which was, yeah, a little bit weird. I knew that, consciously. I threw myself back onto the bed and groaned.

I hated that we couldn’t go a handful of hours without arguing.

And then my phone rang.

I glanced at the display and sighed, answering, “What, Carlos?”

“Yeesh. Tone down that anger, there.”

“Sorry. It’s been a rough morning.”

“Then you know what you need?” he asked cheerfully, “You need to come to dinner. Stephanie’s cooking.”

“Um, yeah,” I glanced towards the bathroom, “I’m not sure if I can, tonight.”

“See, I can’t really take no for an answer.”

“I really can’t.”

“No, but, I really think you should come to dinner.”

“Carlos.”

“Kendall,” he mocked, “Why not? We don’t bite.”

“That’s a vicious lie,” I muttered, because Carlos had been a biter until age fourteen, and I still had the scars to prove it.

“Right, so I’ll see you at seven? Bye!”

“Wait, no, Carlos- goddamnit.”

He’d already hung up.

God, why was I always letting things get so fucked? First with James. He liked that I didn’t bug him about the drugs, but I couldn’t not. I didn’t like sitting back and condoning the way he was ruining his life, but I didn’t want to alienate him, either. I knew if he threatened to stomp off when he came out of the shower that there was a one hundred percent chance I’d back off.

And then with Logan, who was probably the impetus for this entire get together Carlos had planned. Much as I’d like to believe he was looking to spend as much time as humanly possible with me, I knew that wasn’t the reason for the invite. The timing was too conspicuous. Plus, Carlos had this horrible inability to leave well enough alone.

I felt horrible, caged, like James was still holding me by the throat. And maybe he was, because the hot, sick feeling in my stomach was familiar. But it was also impossible. James was beautiful and angry, and no matter how many sex dreams I’d had about him, I didn’t want to fall into his trap.

Because that’s what love was; a kind of prison.

Happy people don’t get that. It’s a prison people choose. So as long as everything goes well people can trick themselves into thinking it’s something else, something beautiful and free. But the second it starts to turn wrong, you can feel it, smothering you.

Makes it sound like I had some kind of horrible, traumatic past, right? Let me set that record straight.

Chris never hit me.

He never laid a hand on me- fuck, if he had, it would have been easier. I wouldn’t have stood for that, not ever, and maybe I could have left him with some of my dignity intact. But the truth was, he never once deliberately hurt me.

We manipulated each other, sure, all the time. We played these little games with no malicious intentions, to see who would break first, to see who cared most, to prove to each other who had more invested. Emotional fucking chicken.

He made me jump through hoops because, in the end, I won. He was more concerned with himself. He didn’t understand that I was desperately in love with him, or maybe he did and didn’t care, because we were young, and resilient, and he didn’t know how much it would sting. How I would have done anything to make him smile. And the more I realized he didn’t care as much, the more I learned to hate myself. It didn’t help that he was ashamed of us, that he would introduce me as a friend and that he would flirt with other people right in front of me without understanding that he was even flirting.

When I first figured out that I liked to fuck boys, I was scared, but I was willing to try anything once. He was the one who taught me to cower in shadows, to hide who I was.

When Jo found us fucking, when she called me a million horrible names, I was lost. I hadn’t meant to betray her, and I knew that I had. I knew that I’d done something irreparable. The thing with Chris, what she’d witnessed, it had been casual. I’d fooled around before him, but he was the first guy I fell for. And the funny thing was that I wasn’t even interested in him, not at first. When he came to the Palm Woods, I thought he was kind of a dick. He kept making fun of my dimples and flinging nasty song lyrics my way.

I guess jackass was kind of my type.

He was good with his hands, and he knew how to look at me in a way that shot straight to my cock. The sex had been a mistake, and it had ended my relationship with Jo. But it had lead to the start of something more serious with Chris.

I fell in love with him in the most hopeless, pathetic way. And at first, it was good, because he loved me back. I thought for sure that he loved me back. Only the more I tried to hold on, the more he slipped through my fingers.

When he met someone else, I guess it should have been a wakeup call. It wasn’t.

Mostly it just hurt. And provided irrefutable evidence that karma was a total bitch, but whatever. That was the day I found out that all the books and movies lied. Sometimes you don’t get a happy ending. Sometimes things don’t wrap up into neat little packages, and there isn’t a right or a wrong. Sometimes things are both good and bad, right and wrong, black and white all at once.

It’s when I found out person can be a generally good guy and still hurt you so badly you actually feel like dying might’ve been a less painful alternative.

Eventually I heard that he was willing to come out for the new guy, that he was able to hold his hand in public without feeling like he’d done something wrong. And that hurt even more, because it made me feel like maybe there was something to be ashamed about.

I told him, the last time we spoke, that I hoped they cheated on each other, so he’d know what it felt like. And he told me, in this calm, sweet voice that they loved each other, and that would never happen. I couldn’t bring myself to tell him that that I’d believed that once too.

So no. Chris never abused me, but when I told people the story, they looked at me like maybe he had.

And I couldn’t tell them about the other things, about how Chris had made me feel stronger, at first. About how he taught me to play guitar or to navigate another guy’s bedroom without feeling embarrassed or how to fake confident even if I wasn’t feeling it.

I’d never had trouble being aggressive when I felt the situation demanded it, but I’d been faltering after everything with Jo went down. Which was kind of Chris’s fault, but it didn’t matter. He taught me how to do what I needed to without feeling guilty, or like I didn’t deserve it anymore. He helped me, and I couldn’t talk about that, because all the good things went hand in hand with the ways he’d made me worse.

Because he also made me stop believing in myself, and in love, and there was no way to make that alright in another person’s eyes.

It was like the deeper I fell for him, the more I disliked myself.

Someone told me once that love’s not like that. That it makes you better, so what I had couldn’t have been love. And that’s bullshit, because it felt exactly like love at the time.

It still did, when I thought about it.

No emotion has an exact definition. Something like love can’t be dictated by supposed-to-be’s. It’s created by people, and sometimes we’re not all pure and kind and loyal.

Most times we’re not.

As time passed, I figured out that the pain didn’t just magically vanish when I met someone new. It didn’t pass after a year, or two, or three. I learned that I could be happy even with the constant ache in my heart.

I could fake a smile until it became real.

I learned it really was possible to be some kind of walking contradiction. And I learned that not everyone knows that.

I used to be one of those people who thought you should never compromise your ideals, but I changed.

If Chris came crawling back to me, I liked to think that I would be strong. That I’d shoot him down. But I knew I wouldn’t. Even though the love I had wasn’t for him, not anymore; it was for the boy with blue eyes from an October night a million years ago, a boy that stopped existing long before I knew he had. I didn’t think it would matter.

I’d take a stranger with Chris’s face because I couldn’t let go of that memory. And I’d tried, so, so hard.

I didn’t want to ever go through anything like that again.

So no, I didn’t like the way my gut twisted when I thought of James. Not at all.

He never came out of the shower.

I left for Carlos’s without telling him goodbye.  


  
\---

  
Logan answered the door. Exactly what I needed.

Not.

“Hi,” Logan shifted a bit awkwardly.

“Hi,” I said, feeling like someone had placed lead on my shoulder blades. I was still annoyed with him, I realized. Beyond annoyed, really. For all the negative things I said about James, I didn’t like that Logan had given them a voice. I didn’t like that I’d let him plant all this big bad doubt in my brain, and I didn’t like the way he looked at me, like maybe I was about to whip out a dime bag and ask if anyone wanted to do lines off of Stephanie’s swollen belly.

He didn’t look like he was too pleased with me, either.

But the great thing about being friends for an eternity is that I knew exactly how to mollify him, at least temporarily, without having to talk about anything.

“So I brought Camille,” I said, “Hope that’s not a problem.”

She popped out from behind me, drawling, “Hey.”

“Camille,” Logan squeaked, his attention immediately diverted. Was I good or was I good?

“I brought a bottle of sparkling cider,” she lifted the gift.

“Y-you know I don’t live here,” he stammered.

“Yeah, but you’re kind of blocking the door,” she twirled a finger in his general direction, throwing me an exasperated grin, like isn’t-he-adorable?

Logan moved, letting us cross the foyer and say hi to Carlos and Stephanie.

“Kendall,” Carlos bounced up to me, “You brought Camille? Cool.”

“Hi guys,” Stephanie called from the kitchen, “I’d come out and hug you, but- I’m making tacos. It’s a bit messy.”

“She’s not very good at it,” Carlos stage whispered, leading us towards the sound of her voice until she was standing in front of us, practically glowing.

“Shut up,” Stephanie laughed, “Just because no one can compare to the secret Garcia family recipe. Which you should no longer be keeping a secret, by the way. I am family.”

“Yes you are,” Carlos agreed, leaning his head on her shoulder and smiling, warm and open.

“All these displays of affection are a bit overwhelming, aren’t they?” Logan nudged my foot, a tentative smile on his face. I took it for the tentative truce it was.

“I was thinking nauseating,” Camille deadpanned, “But that works too.”

Stephanie laughed and said, “Sweetie, our bitter single friends are getting jealous.”

“I’m not-“ Logan began, but then his eyes flicked to Camille and he closed his mouth.

Carlos didn’t seem to get the hint, “That redhead’s not working out, hunh?”

“There’s a redhead?” Camille perked up, and I could tell that Logan was not amused that she had the gall to look genuinely happy for him.

Camille was a lot of things, including slightly terrifying and perpetually in love with my dumbass friend, but she was also, at heart, a good, sweet person. Even if she was entertaining some fantasy of getting back with Logan, she would never begrudge him love.

Logan obviously really wanted her to begrudge him.

“No,” he said sullenly, crossing his arms, “Not anymore.”

“Oh,” Camille blinked, “Well, I’m- uh, sorry?”

Later, while we were setting the table and Camille was talking about the newest girly vampire movie, I asked, “Did you really break up with your girlfriend?”

“No. But I wasn’t going to say that in front of Camille.”

“You shouldn’t lie.”

“You sound like your mother. Stop doing that.”

“Um, actually I sound like you. The day before yesterday, I might add.”

I have a large mouth, and no filter between it and my brain, apparently.

“That is completely different.”

“Not really.”

I could tell Logan was about to launch into a lengthy explanation about how our two scenarios were not in any way the same, but I cut him off.

“Look, if you want Camille, you should say something.”

“How can I? She didn’t even care that I was dating someone.”

“…You told her you weren’t.”

“She didn’t even care that I wasn’t dating someone.”

“Logan,” I said, exasperated, “Man up.”

“Coming from you? Ha.”

And then he stuck his tongue out at me like the mature doctor he was.

Camille wandered out of the kitchen, plopping on the couch, and I decided sitting with her was very possibly safer than standing with Logan, butter knife in hand.

She grinned at me the second my butt hit the sofa.

“You do know we have our own lives now, right?”

“So I see,” I raised my eyebrow, “If there was a point in that statement, I missed it.”

Camille shrugged one shoulder, fluid, graceful. She was relaxed here, in Carlos’s living room, which made me think she’d sat in that same couch before. She’d never been super close with Stephanie, as far as I knew, but Camille and Carlos had struck up their own kind of friendship back at the Palm Woods. And maybe I should have noticed before, from their easy banter back at Disneyland, but they were comfortable around each other. They’d probably worked together, or worked with the same people. It was a little bit weird thinking that maybe Camille was closer to Carlos than I was, anymore.

“Just that you can’t pull me away from set whenever you’re having some kind of relationship drama with Logan.”

“I’m not-“

She laughed, and said, “I’m okay playing the buffer this once. You get one freebie. Only one.”

I was going to protest, but instead I said, “Understood.”’

Camille proceeded to launch into a vivid description of the newest script she’d read. She was at the part about the head-eating alien when Carlos interrupted.

“Can I talk to Kendall for a minute? Or five?”

“It’s your house,” She said cordially, “Besides, I think I spy a sulking Logan.”

“Have at him,” Carlos instructed, and as she bounced off he called, “Practice safe se-“

I elbowed him.

“Don’t finish that thought. One of them will not hesitate to kill you.”

“You think? Which one?”

I watched Camille and Logan mill around the cutlery and said, “It could go either way. What’s up?”

I knew before he even opened his mouth that I wouldn’t like the conversation.

“Getting Camille to play runner between you and Logan? You’re so sneaky sometimes,” Carlos said, and I nodded, “Kind of like how you’ve been hanging out with James all the time.”

“I-“

“No, no. I’m not saying it’s a bad thing, necessarily. James needs someone. When you and Logan left, you broke his heart.”

“What?” I asked, because that had not been what I was expecting, at all.

“I know James has always been, um, independent. But he was in a bad way before the band broke up.”

“What are you even talking about? He was fine. He was the breakup’s biggest advocate.”

It was hard to say that with a straight face, knowing that I’d had this very conversation with James only hours before. This morbidly curious part of me wanted to see what Carlos knew, if there was more to the story, if he’d seen something I hadn’t.

Carlos rolled his eyes, “You’re so dense sometimes.”

“James said almost exactly the same thing. Except nicer.”

Carlos grinned, the expression fond, “Good to know we’re still on the same wavelength.”

“Right, so, care to fill me in?”

“Look, James didn’t want the band to break up.”

So I’d heard. I nodded for him to continue.

“I don’t think he would have minded so much if the two of you hadn’t been leaving. Maybe, if you’d stayed in LA… he might’ve been cool with it. But when Logan announced he’d gotten into med school, and you got picked up by the Wild, he knew there was no way you would,” Carlos paused, and then said, “I swear, I didn’t know about the drugs, but-“

“You think he was using while we were still together.”

Even knowing he was, it still bothered me, thinking about it. He could have destroyed everything we worked for. His use would’ve cast a bad light on the entire band. The Wild never would have accepted me if they thought I’d been tied up in something like that, even if they screened me every second of every day to show I wasn’t on anything. Drugs did freaky shit, like destroy your liver, and no one wanted a damaged hockey player.

“I think he must have been. He was acting so fucking weird, and no matter how much I asked, he wouldn’t tell me why. I thought he was just- scared. Of being on his own. And then you left-both of you,” he added kindly, to make it clear he didn’t think I held the sole responsibility, “And it got worse.”

“Why didn’t you say anything? That James was depressed, or, or _anything_?”

“I wasn’t going to jump in the middle of your dreams. James wouldn’t have wanted that, and neither did I. Kendall, you’re the reason I have this,” He gestured around his house, “All of it. I wasn’t going to try to deny you a chance to do something you loved.”

“I would have, if you’d just-“

“I know. And _that’s_ why I didn’t say anything. Plus,” He shrugged, looking a little guilty, “I thought I could handle it. Turns out, I couldn’t. Like I said, I had no idea that he was- yeah. So.”

I frowned.

“This has been enlightening.”

“I’m not trying to guilt trip you, man. I mean, I am, but there’s a point.”

“Which is?”

“Look, like I said, I know you’ve been hanging out with James, which is- nice.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“No, really, man, it is. I would be too, if I could.”

“Why can’t you?”

It was his turn to look at me like I was stupid, “He doesn’t want me. You don’t think I tried to track him down after the club?”

The thought hadn’t even occurred to me.

“Did you?”

“Sure. He doesn’t want to be found- not by me, at least. And if he wants me, god, it’s not like he can’t just call. I haven’t changed my number in fifteen years, and if he forgot it, I know for a fact he’s still got contacts in this town who’d give it to him.”

“You think anyone in the business is going to talk to him when he looks like-“

“They talk to Lindsey Lohan,” Carlos deadpanned, “But seriously. James was a fucking star. Just because he gave up doesn’t mean he’s completely faded into obscurity. Do you know how many times I’ve had to turn away producers who want to do an E! True Hollywood Story?”

“On who?”

“Any of us. The band. Me. James. A where are they now kind of thing.”

“First I’ve heard of it,” I commented, frowning at him.

“Don’t look at me like that, I knew you wouldn’t be interested. I’ve gotten offers for reality TV shows too, and seriously, almost everyone asks about James. They want to know what happened to the second album, the one he never released. There’s still speculation on internet blogs that there’s some kind of full length demo floating around out there. If he really wanted it, he could have it all back. It’d take work, and yeah, he’d probably have to get clean, but he’s got the contacts if he needs them. He could go to rehab, build a career.”

“You think that would happen?”

“Um, is Robert Downey Jr. not Iron Man? Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“Right, okay. So my hanging out with him is nice, but.”

“But?”

“I know there’s a but in there somewhere. You had your bad news face on.”

“I have a bad news face? That’s a lie. I try never to have bad news.”

“You’re right, you must have picked it up acting.”

“Must have,” he agreed, smiling a little, “You’re right. There is a but. Like I said, James needs someone. I’m just not sure it should be you.”

Ouch.

“Ouch,” I echoed my thoughts, “No, no. Go ahead. Be brutal. Feel free.”

“I don’t mean- there’s nothing wrong with you,” he said hastily, “I mean, aside from the obvious. How do you get through life with a face like that? It must be horrible.”

“Shut up,” I groaned, “How can you joke so much in a serious conversation?”

“I’m joking? Honey,” he called to the kitchen, “Kendall thinks I’m joking when I tell him he’s hide-“

“Shut. Up,” I clamped my hand over his mouth.

“Alright, alright,” Carlos laughed through my fingers, and I let go, “Dude. I’m just saying there are plastic surgeons out there who can work miracles. Stephanie likes to get botox from-“

“Carlos Garcia!” She shrieked from the kitchen, “You hush your face right now or I will do it for you.”

“She has superhuman hearing,” Carlos hissed with a wink, “Anyway. Look, James needs someone, and you’re not-“

“Reliable?” I guessed.

“Kendall,” Carlos groaned, “Don’t put words in my mouth. And don’t listen to Logan when he talks, he’s intensely stupid for such a smart guy. You’re reliable. Maybe not all the time, but you’re loyal, and you’re there when we need you most, and that’s the only thing that _counts_. It’s just, you’re going back to Minnesota, eventually, right?”

I didn’t say anything, because the truth was, I didn’t know. And I didn’t want him to know that there was a possibility I wasn’t, because that would beg the question of why.

Why would I leave a wildly successful career that I’d been working towards my entire life? I didn’t have an answer for that.

It wasn’t just the way the other guys went after me, the gay boy band jokes and the constant pressure, the ever present shame of hiding what I was. I know I whined like a bitch, but fuck, man, I was tougher than I looked. If it was just that, I could take it.

If I was happy, I would’ve been able to take it.

But I wasn’t- I was lonely and miserable, and living my dream didn’t really feel like I thought it would, and I didn’t have a new dream, not a single one. I felt like the Wild was a dead end, as much as I loved hockey. I didn’t want to give it up, but- I didn’t want to go back, either. Not yet.

“If you keep this up, if you let him get attached,” Carlos folded his hands, and he looked more serious than the time the cafeteria ran out of corndogs when we were thirteen, even though he’d waited a month for them to get on the menu.

“James isn’t going to be able to take it, if you make him care about you and then leave again. And-“ Carlos looked straight at me, apologies in his big brown eyes, but a hardness I’d never seen before, “I’m not going to be able to forgive you if you break him again.”

My throat went dry.

“Are you serious?”

“I love you, man,” Carlos clapped my shoulder, “But I love James too, whether he wants me to or not. I’m not saying I’d stop talking to you, or disbar you from being that kid’s godfather-“

“I thought I was godfather,” Logan yelled.

“You both are,” Carlos frowned, “The fuck is with the acoustics in this house?”

“No idea.”

“I’d like it if all three of you would be godfather,” Carlos sighed, but then he said, “I wouldn’t do any of that shit. But I’ll never forgive you. Okay?”

Okay? No. In no way was that okay. I glared at him, feeling guilty and a little bit angry with myself. But I said, “Okay.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. It’s not like I can just cut him off.”

“Gradual’s probably the way to go. And hey, you can always force him to call me. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Nice, that was sweet. You really don’t pull your punches, do you?”

“Learned it from my hockey captain. He was kind of a douche. But brilliant.”

“There’s that,” I shook my head, and I didn’t tell him that I didn’t think I could force James to do anything he didn’t want to.

I thought about the way he’d looked yesterday afternoon, sundrenched, on his knees, for me.

Every instinct I had was warning me away from James. All of my friends were doing the same. But I wasn’t sure if I could actually give him up.  


  
\---

  
On the drive home, I was thinking about my dad. I don’t know what got me started- this thing with James, or the way I knew that Carlos would be a wonderful father, or-

Sometimes people tell their children things without realizing how badly it will affect them in the future.

My mom never did that. She wouldn’t say a bad word about my dad.

Sometimes she wouldn’t say any words at all because she was so damned mad; but she’d never say anything bad about him, not to me or Katie.

But other people would. They’d talk about how wonderful my mom was and how awful my father was without ever once thinking how that made me feel. Which- sometimes it was like my father’s awfulness could rub off on me. I wanted to scratch it out of my skin some days, even though I didn’t actually know whether he was awful at all.

I didn’t know what happened to him.

When I was little, I used to make up stories, all kinds of things that would somehow make it all okay. I told myself that he wouldn’t leave on his own. That he loved me and Katie and mom more than anything. That someone must have been keeping him away.

Maybe he was kidnapped or abducted or dead.

Maybe he went across the world to do inspired missionary work.

Maybe he was secretly the prince of another country, and the queen had called him back. He could’ve been trying to spare our family the public scrutiny. That one might’ve been influenced by Katie’s fervent re-watching of the Princess Diaries.

If I was in an awful mood, I allowed myself to think maybe he’d left because he’d sensed my inner queer and wanted nothing to do with it. That was the worst.

More likely, he met someone else and decided that his family wasn’t good enough. That we weren’t worthy of his affection.

And the thing was, I didn’t want to make anyone else wonder the way I did, about him. I’d run off on James again, this very afternoon, and I didn’t like that it seemed to be a recurring pattern. Whether he was interested in me for the sex or the money or if he legitimately just needed a friend, I didn’t want to be the guy who made him care and just skipped out. Even if he didn’t actually care.

I knew I should follow Carlos’s advice, but I didn’t think I was going to be able to. Because the entire way home, I was thinking about the warm glow of the kitchen, too, about Logan and Camille and Stephanie and Carlos, about my friends who had found their places in the world.

I was thinking about how, normally, the thought of it would make me so incredibly jealous, but- But I wasn’t.

Because I was thinking that if I was lucky, James would be sitting on my balcony, a mug of coffee cupped in his nicotine stained hands, a cigarette marring his sharp smile.

And yeah, maybe he’d be mad, maybe he’d look at me with that unfamiliar fury in his eyes, but I didn’t think I would mind.

I was daydreaming about the way his mouth would taste if I kissed him, there, out in the open, where everyone could see.  


  
\---


	19. Shut Your Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Future!Fic. Kendall returns to L.A. six years after Big Time Rush disbanded. James has been missing for years. Imagine how things change when James reappears in his life. And he needs help.

**Title:** Shut Your Eyes  
 **Authors:**  [](http://goten0040.livejournal.com/profile)[ **goten0040**](http://goten0040.livejournal.com/)   and [](http://garnetice.livejournal.com/profile)[ **garnetice**](http://garnetice.livejournal.com/)    
 **Chapter:** 19  
 **Rating:** M  
 **Ship(s):** Kendall/James, Carlos/Stephanie, Logan/Camille, maybe more.  
 **Summary:** Future!Fic. Kendall returns to L.A. six years after Big Time Rush disbanded. James has been missing for years. Imagine how things change when James reappears in his life. And he needs help.  
 **Previous Chapters:**[1](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/852.html#cutid1), [2](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1274.html), [3](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1511.html#cutid1), [4](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1554.html#cutid1), [5](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1996.html#cutid1), [6](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2234.html), [7](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2308.html#cutid1), [8](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2649.html), [9](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2935.html#cutid1), [10](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/3210.html), [11](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/3342.html#cutid1), [12](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/3705.html#cutid1), [13](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/3896.html#cutid1), [14](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/4461.html#cutid1), [15](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/4834.html#cutid1), [16](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/4876.html#cutid1), [17](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/5215.html), [18](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/5571.html#cutid1)

Chapter Nineteen

I have a bad habit of entertaining fantasies to the degree that I end up disappointed. For example, when I was nine years old, my mom finally agreed to let me go to a WWF match. I loved wrestling, like most little boys did at that age, and I had a student teacher at school that had grown pretty fond of me and given me tickets to it. He took me along with his girlfriend to the place, and though she was thoroughly displeased, I was enchanted with the whole thing. I had it all planned out in my head, meeting Hulk Hogan or The Rock or Undertaker and getting their autographs and letting them teach me some of their best moves so I’d be able to take down anyone with an unkind word to say about me. I imagined this incredible spectacle of blood and violence and gore, and overall, it just seemed to be the best place to be a nine year old ever. And I was so fucking psyched that I didn’t sleep the night before.

But I’d been wrong. I’d built it up to such a shining example that the experience itself didn’t live up to it. It was disappointing to say the least. We were shoved into a rowdy crowd where it was difficult to even see what was happening in the ring, and it was loud, and smelled so strongly of beer and body odor that my nostrils burned. My student teacher spent most of the time arguing with his girlfriend. I sat there with my big gulp drink and my way-too-expensive ball cap, and watched the match through half-lidded eyes. And I walked away disenchanted. The wrestlers didn’t even come out to say hello to fans.

And no, I didn’t learn my lesson. I mean, who learns lessons at age nine?

I could already feel the hairs raising on my arms on my way up to my apartment, as if I was expecting James to tackle me the moment I walked in the door, or, I don’t know, be waiting for me with nothing but a smile on. If not that, I expected at least a pretty good argument that could shake the tension from my shoulders. At least it would leave me feeling guilty about something that could go away a lot quicker. I was frustrated, and I needed a release. Whether it was sex or damn good fight, something had to go down, because my shoulders were so tense that they hurt.

But when I got there, he was gone. Long gone from the looks of it. And he’d taken his annoyances out on a good few of my things – like that blender I hadn’t used, and a decorative mirror that had been hanging on the wall, and, oh, my guitar. That was a low blow. Yes, I had another, and he hadn’t really killed the expensive one, but I was still pissed that he decided that destroying my stuff would be a good way of getting even with me.

And I could taste the sarcastic remark that, yeah, of course he was stable, doing things like that.

So I spent the next hour cleaning up the mess he made – but only the physical one, because the mental shitstorm he’d created was just so, so much worse. I guess I was happy to ignore said shitstorm for the time being. Then I plopped down on my bed because I was just oddly, horribly, tired. Pretty typical as of late, but definitely the case.

But, also very typically, I couldn’t get a wink of sleep.

…

My mom called. I thought very seriously about ignoring it, staring down my cell phone and wishing it’d stop flashing _Mom_ and guilt-tripping me. Finally, I sighed and answered.

“Hey, Mom,” I said, trying my very best to sound chipper.

But moms are always surprisingly intuitive.

“Honey, are you alright?”

I grimaced. “Yeah. Why?”

“You don’t sound well. And I figured that you might have been sick because I haven’t heard from you.”

That was a ploy. She didn’t know it, but I did. Moms are also really good at being passive aggressive without realizing it.

“Oh, well, um…” Fuck, what was that lie I told Logan and Carlos? They were probably a bit wiser to it, but, “Oh, I got mugged.”

“What?” Her surprise gave her breath an airy, high pitch.

“Yeah. A few guys. Beat me up. But I’m okay.”

“God, Kendall, don’t scare me like that. I hope that’s all.”

Hope? I frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Honey, you know all mothers have instincts. And mine have been going off like crazy. I’m… worried about you. Something just seems to be… wrong.”

Yeah. Something. Lots of things. Everything.

It was kind of hard not to break down with my mom on the line. It’s like… when you’re trying your very best to be brave when something’s fucking with you, and you’ve stiffened your shoulders and tightened your jaw and think you’ve got a handle on yourself. Then she asks what’s wrong and you go to pieces. Shatter. Like she’s got a hand on your spinal cord and she decides when you actually feel things or not. Because she’s your mom and she gave you those emotions, so deal with it.

But I’d like to think that I had built up a tolerance over the years.

“I’m okay, Mom,” I said, but my voice died to a low murmur. So, maybe I didn’t have much of a tolerance.

“Are you sure? Are you eating?”

“Yes, Mom. Stephanie made me tacos, like, and hour ago. I’m eating plenty.”

“Did those bad men hurt you? Are you injured? Or… or are you sick?” Her voice was gaining pitch with worry.

“ _Mom_ ,” I groaned. “I’m fine, I swear.” I felt like she was talking down to me. It may have been the word choice of ‘bad men’.

She sighed. “I’m sorry, honey. You know how I worry. I can’t help it. You just didn’t seem yourself when I saw you last.” No telling what she’d think of me if I visited again. I was pretty sure it had only gotten worse. “And Katie mentioned you got in an argument with Logan the other day? That’s not like either of you.”

“Mom, we fight all the time. Just friends bickering. You know.”

She was quiet on the other line, and the silence said more than she could word. She knew more than what she was implying.

“Um… why? Did Logan say anything to you?” I tried hesitantly.

I heard her swallow on the other line. “Kendall, he says you’ve been making some… poor choices.”

I gritted my teeth and tried not to be any more furious at Logan, but I was. I could feel it hot below my skin, a spark that boiled my blood. Logan couldn’t keep his fucking mouth shut. He was never a good liar, especially with my mom, but I didn’t want her involved in all the things that were going on. He just couldn’t leave well enough alone. It was like he didn’t trust me at all to make my own decisions.

No. It wasn’t _like_ that. It was exactly that.

“Poor choices by Logan’s standards are different than they are by mine. He just… Mom, he needs to learn to mind his own business once in a while. I’m not in trouble, I’m not sick, and I’m not hurt. I’m okay.”

I felt like I was lying, but I really wasn’t sure if I was or not.

“Katie said almost the same thing to Logan.”

Wait, Katie had been there? “How many people met up to talk about me?” I grumbled, trying to keep my voice even.

“Well… oh, look at the time—“

Logan had staged some sort of fucking pre-intervention. Rage seared in my veins. “Mom, do me a favor. Next time Logan wants to chat up my personal life, tell him to take it up with me.”

“Kendall, I’m sure he was just trying to—“

“I don’t care. He had no right---“ I breathed, steadying myself. I didn’t want to yell at my own mother. It wasn’t her fault. “I have to go. I’ll talk to you later. I love you.”

“I love you too,” she said softly, sounding like she was still worried and more than a little disappointed.

I hung up. I was tempted to throw the damn cell phone against the wall, but I knew that was my only line to James, and there was a chance that he might need me.

At least someone did. Not that he was making it very well known.

Carlos’ words were fucking with me. As much as he tried to make it sound like it wasn’t my fault James went fucking insane, I still got the vibe that, yeah, I was the main cause. I couldn’t understand what had happened. James had seemed fine when I left… sort of. I knew he was going to miss the group being together, but I thought he could handle it. I hadn’t gotten to see what was actually going on in his head back then.

Thinking back on it, it did seem like something had been off about James. He’d been really jittery in that last year. And there was one night that suddenly was standing out in stark clarity in my mind – after Carlos had said what he said. It wasn’t long after that night he’d cursed me to the porcelain gods at that party. He’d gotten trashed again, but it was different. He wasn’t just telling me to fuck off because I’d filled him full of vodka. It was so much more than that.

“I’m not gonna make it, Kendall,” he had sobbed. “I’m not gonna be able to do it on my own. I’m so scared.”

I thought it was just the alcohol filling him with self-doubt. But he sat in our living room and just cried and cried and cried. He wasn’t a crying drunk usually either, so it was particularly hard to take care of. I didn’t deal often with crying drunks. Carlos was the type that pulled more than lethal stunts, Logan was the giggly type, and James had the tendency to get a little randy. I was told I turned into an asshole, but I could never be sure since it didn’t take long for me to get wasted. And according to Chris, I was a fucking sex animal when I was drunk, so I had no idea which was more likely. Camille could be a bit of a crying drunk, but she always went through stages – the first one being that she’d take a good portion of her clothes off, which had been quite entertaining for everyone but me, who really didn’t give a fuck about tits by then. Though Logan’s being flustered – that was entertaining.

But James was hysterical that night, and he just kept saying “I can’t do this. I can’t do this.”

I should have listened. I should have taken it as a red flag. But I didn’t. I was too caught up in my dream lingering on the horizon; too sure of James’ worth, of his confidence; too blind to the fact that it’d been wavering so much at that point. I wasn’t paying attention to what he was actually saying.

“Sure you can,” I had said, in a tone well-rehearsed for whenever a friend was down on himself. “Now quit bawling. You’re being stupid.”

And he’d just sobbed harder, snotty and devastated. “I am stupid. I can’t do it. I can’t do this.”

I had laughed it off. I wish I hadn’t.

He really didn’t think he could make it without us.

The fear must have gotten the best of him. He questioned his decisions, and found it easier for others to make it for him. And when he didn’t have to fret over that, he could just slip off into whatever drug he wanted to take, live his life in a hazy coma of false satisfaction.

Looking at it like that, the slope didn’t seem very rocky. It was like he’d just slid right down, like a water slide. I mean, what else was there for him to do but party hearty and dive in head first?

I was starting to figure out why I kept cleaning my apartment when it was already clean – it was because I wanted to clean up my life, and I wanted to clean up James.

I wondered why that second album had never happened. Rumor had it, it was his heart and soul in full audio quality. I couldn’t get the thought that maybe James’ redemption was in that album out of my head. I guess I felt like I had to do something because I had ignored him before.

I missed him. He’d only been gone a short bit and I was already worried about where he’d gone.

My phone buzzed, and I saw that it was Logan. I assumed my mother had called him.

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t talk to him.

…

I went looking for James. I couldn’t help it. I was worried, and I didn’t think he would come back if he was still angry at me. I called him, but he didn’t answer, so I gave up on that pretty quick. I started snooping around the hang-out spots I recognized as sort of his turf, and kept my eyes peeled for any sight of him. But I didn’t find him. I even went to the theatre, looking for him. He wasn’t there.

But Joseph was.

I heard the thrum of guitar halt immediately when the door opened. “Ollie Ollie oxen-free,” Joseph said, peering up into the rafters for whoever was making their way down.

When he saw it was me, he was much less than overjoyed.

“Oh, it’s you. What do you want?”

“I… was looking for James,” I tried, feeling awkward. I wasn’t sure if I was comfortable being alone with him, especially when he had a syringe right by his feet.

“He’s not here,” he said harshly, going back to playing guitar.

“Oh. Well, do you know where he is?”

“I don’t fucking keep up with him.”

I grimaced, then manned up because I was particularly short-fused that day. “I’m sorry. Do you have a problem with me or something?” It felt harsher on my lips than I expected.

He stopped playing again, looking me down with the dullest, scariest eyes I’d ever seen.

He let out a huff of breath; then came at me faster than I expected, and I actually flinched, stepping back.

“You know what he’s like on smack?” He asked.

“Y-yeah.”

“What about X?”

I nodded hastily, losing my nerve.

He grabbed me by the back of my neck and pulled me in close, whispering, “Have you seen him on coke yet?”

“No…”

He let out this sound that was somewhere between a chuckle and a snarl. “Just wait.” I swallowed thickly. He was so close to my face I was nearly looking at him cross-eyed. His eyes flickered in the stage lights, dangerous, violent. “You won’t be moping around looking for him then. You haven’t met that James.”

I glared. “You don’t know that.”

He let go of me, gritting his teeth, and they looked like fangs in the light. “Yeah I do.” Then, he stopped for a moment, and suddenly in this louder, angrier voice, “You… you… got nerve, man. You know that? You’ve got real fucking nerve.”

I was confused. What the fuck was he getting at?

Joe ran his hands through his too-long hair, and I could see the scars upon his overly-inked arms. “You can’t just walk back in here and act like you’ve been there this whole time. You just can’t.”

“But I have-“

“No! You haven’t!” Guitar Dude was seething. “You walked out right when he needed you most, so don’t even think you can just fucking walk back in! I was there when you weren’t. What the fuck makes you better than me?!”

He was saying almost exactly what Carlos had been saying – except harsher. Realer, actually.

“I didn’t-“

“No, shut the fuck up! Just… stop talking.”

I did.

Joe shuddered a bit, walking away in a wild-eyed frenzy; then he stomped back over to me, grabbing me by the shirt and pulled me in again, and he whispered:

“You know he blows a lot of guys? Just because his mouth’s been on your dick doesn’t make you special, so don’t start thinking it does.”

My mouth went dry.

The door above squealed as it was opened.

“Heeeey!” Danika called down. “Joe, you here?”

“Yeah,” he said, and his voice was low for a yell. Then, he looked me dead in the eye. “Now get the fuck out of my face.”

…

I felt sick. My head was aching, and my stomach was in knots, and I tasted bile in the back of my throat. I was fairly sure I was working up a nice hefty ulcer in my stomach. The guilt was weighing me down more than ever. Joseph’s words felt like a million needles in my chest. I felt like I was going to vomit.

Maybe I was kidding myself over the whole thing. Maybe James didn’t give a fuck about me at all anymore. Maybe I had nailed that coffin shut for good when I left to join the Wild, when he needed me. I was too focused on me to notice him, and that was all my fault, no matter which way I tried to figure it. Best friends weren’t supposed to abandon each other. I had abandoned everyone.

I washed my face in my dingy bathroom and tried to pretend I didn’t have a few tears welling in my eyes.  
And fuck, sleep was even harder. Every time I tried to lay down and sleep it off, maybe shut down my mind for a few minutes, Joe’s words blasted through my brain, mixing with Carlos’ gentle attempts, and damn it.

I was hating myself all over again.

Hating myself hard.

I curled in my bed and tried not to puke.

I had left the door unlocked, and I wished James would come back – or really anyone at that point. Someone to come in and insist that it wasn’t my fault. I needed to know it wasn’t my fault.

Bad thing is, when it is, no one’s going to tell you it’s not. People will push the blame on whoever they can, pass the buck, anything to get the guilt off them. So if you do something bad, you better be fucking prepared to deal with the consequences because people don’t just lift that off you.

I had always wondered if it was my fault my dad left. And though my mother cooed that no, no, of course not, it didn’t ease my worries. Because moms were good at lying, and my mom was good at lying by omission. I think that was the one thing I resented from my mother. She never wanted me to hurt for my dad’s leaving, never wanted to give me any inkling that maybe he didn’t love me. So she didn’t tell me why.

It didn’t help. I supposed she just thought that maybe I’d get over it, but I never did. How do you get over something like that? One day, Dad’s there, and the next day he’s gone forever? You don’t. You never, ever, get over it. But I never had the nerve to talk to her about it, because I knew she was doing it out of love. Good intentions or no, however, it hurt me to the core.

I buried myself in this strange, guilty haze, and didn’t even notice when my bedroom door opened. Didn’t even notice when James peered at me with this weird look on his face. Didn’t notice when he shook me a little, gave up, and left the room.

Or maybe I did. But I couldn’t move. I was paralyzed with my new revelations.

It felt like an eternity, before James finally stirred me.

“Dude, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

Oh, lots of things.

“You’ve been lying there for hours. I’m hungry. Give me some money so I can order a pizza.”

I grabbed my wallet and basically threw it at him. He caught it in a mix of jumbled hand movements, it bouncing off his fingers for a few clumsy moments, then gave me a look.

“Dude.”

I rolled back on my side, facing the wall. He could take the damn thing. Keep it. Max out my credit cards for all I cared. I owed him that much. More. I’d broken James. I’d killed him, utterly destroyed him. How the fuck was I supposed to fix that?

James grabbed me by the arm and yanked me up. “Did you take something?” He looked more amused than anything. Amused at my pain. Figures.

“No,” I groaned. “Did you?”

James’ eyelids drooped. “Get up. We’re going out.”

I wanted to cry. Getting up seemed like the worst thing in the world. My stomach was still twisting, and my head was pounding. I flopped into James’ belly, shutting my eyes and fighting vertigo.

“H-hey…” he murmured, his voice softening substantially. “Are you okay?”

The addict was asking me if I was okay. I supposed I was. I was just low. Lower than dirt.

“Mm,” I said, trying to nod and get up. The blood pumping in my skull felt like a constant rhythm, like that damn techno music that had been vibrating in my brain when James had sucked me off the first time.

James gave a sigh that sounded more frustrated than supportive. “We can go somewhere you want. We don’t have to go party.”

All I wanted to do was apologize to him. But I couldn’t. So I went with him. We hailed a cab and hit the street.

…

“Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m tired of you taking mine and dirtying them up. Besides, they don’t fit you.”

James wasn’t completely comfortable with me buying him clothes, but I insisted. I think he went along with it because it seemed to get me out of my horrible funk. He tried on a few things, but even in the nicest stores, the clothes seemed to swallow him. I think it was because every time he put on new clothes, I expected him to look like he used to, tan and toned and perfectly sculpted after years of work. But it wasn’t the case. The muscles were faded, the body withering away. But eventually, we stumbled upon a few outfits that didn’t completely engulf him.

He and I made our way down the white sidewalks of L.A. He was dressed in a black Henley and some jeans that looked too faded to be over a hundred bucks, but he looked good, and my credit card wasn’t hot enough yet for me to feel like I had repaid him for what I had done.

I honestly didn’t think I ever could. But I sure as hell was going to try.

I was starting to think he was on to me though, when I bought him everything his eye lingered on. His jaw was set, his eyes suspicious, as he swung the shopping bags by his legs. We whirled a corner, the breeze catching us with surprise, when he finally spoke up.

“Why are you doing this?”

I lied. “Just felt like it.”

James glared. “You think I’m your whore or something? Just because I got you off a couple times doesn’t mean you have to spoil me rotten. If that’s what this is, then fuck off-“

“It’s not.” I clarified, giving him my most genuine smile. “I just wanted to do something nice, okay? For my best friend.”

Then I remembered James sniping that he wasn’t my best friend earlier that day – just an ex-friend, a former friend, nothing special.

But God, he was so special. It was my fault for dulling that shine.

“I told you—“

“Look, just let me do it, okay?”

“Why? I don’t want it-“

“It’s not completely for you,” I admitted with a grimace.

James peered at me, reading me up and down. But before he could speak, I jumped back in.  
“Could we not talk about it? Please?”

He shrugged. “Fine.” I knew the topic would come back up, but he seemed pretty content with letting it go for the time being.

After that, I got him a shave and a haircut – though he insisted keeping it long, so only the ends got trimmed. And he walked out looking like a shadow of his former self. I thought it was what I wanted. I thought it would make me feel better.

But it didn’t. Because the more I tried to make him look like the old James, the more I realized he wasn’t.  
We went to dinner when the sun was sinking low in the sky, faded-looking stars starting to peek out of the haze above Los Angeles. It was a little bar and grill that served semi-good food, but even better alcohol.

So I ordered a drink. And another. And another. And another.

And by the end of the meal, my vision was hazy, and James was looking even more like the James I knew before. It was sobering to say the least.

Well, kind of, because by the end of dinner, I was beyond wasted.  



	20. Shut Your Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Future!Fic. Kendall returns to L.A. six years after Big Time Rush disbanded. James has been missing for years. Imagine how things change when James reappears in his life. And he needs help.

**Title:** Shut Your Eyes  
 **Authors:**  [](http://goten0040.livejournal.com/profile)[ **goten0040**](http://goten0040.livejournal.com/)   and [](http://garnetice.livejournal.com/profile)[ **garnetice**](http://garnetice.livejournal.com/)    
 **Chapter:** 20  
 **Rating:** M  
 **Ship(s):** Kendall/James, Carlos/Stephanie, Logan/Camille, maybe more.  
 **Summary:** Future!Fic. Kendall returns to L.A. six years after Big Time Rush disbanded. James has been missing for years. Imagine how things change when James reappears in his life. And he needs help.  
 **Previous Chapters:**[1](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/852.html#cutid1), [2](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1274.html), [3](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1511.html#cutid1), [4](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1554.html#cutid1), [5](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1996.html#cutid1), [6](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2234.html), [7](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2308.html#cutid1), [8](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2649.html), [9](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2935.html#cutid1), [10](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/3210.html), [11](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/3342.html#cutid1), [12](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/3705.html#cutid1), [13](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/3896.html#cutid1), [14](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/4461.html#cutid1), [15](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/4834.html#cutid1), [16](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/4876.html#cutid1), [17](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/5215.html), [18](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/5571.html#cutid1), [19](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/5870.html#cutid1)  


 

\---

  
“You are drunk.”

I found that statement profoundly offensive.

“ _I’m_ not drunk, _you’re_ drunk.”

James nodded, “You might be correct. But you are also drunk.”

He was humoring me. He had like, two drinks and as far as I could recall, a very high tolerance for alcohol. But it’s not fun being drunk by yourself, so I chose to pretend. Things were fuzzy and I was blitzed and the world was wonderful.

“Well you, you- _You_ broke my guitar.”

“I was starting to think you didn’t care,” James laughed.

“Of course I care. Never touch a man’s guitar. It took me years to learn how to play that thing.”

“I know. I helped teach you,” James rolled his eyes, “Anyway, you have like, zillion more, and that was like- this morning. You really need to learn how to let go.”

“Right, because you’re excellent at it. Teach me your ways, oh Master.”

He made a face at me, “You’re not very nice when you’re drunk.”

“You broke my blender.”

“Did you even know how to use it?”

“No. I was planning on learning. I was going to read the instruction manu- ha, okay, _cannot_ say that with a straight face. But I would’ve taken a class or something. Probably.”

“Liar.”

“I will have you know that Mama Knight doesn’t condone any lying from her children. I do not lie.”

“And that is a lie.”

I laughed, “So it is. You probably should not have let me drink so much.”

James stopped walking. We’d left the restaurant side by side, but he had long legs and was already several paces in front of me.

“Because I had the power to stop you,” he said skeptically, “You were drinking like a man with a mission. Did you even eat anything?”

I frowned, walking past him, trying to remember why I’d had so much. And then I did remember, and didn’t want to think about it. But it was rude not to answer James, wasn’t it?

“I had a bad day,” I finally said, tasting the words, trying to decide if they were right. I was having an awful lot of bad days.

He was behind me now, trying to catch up. He sighed and said, “Why are you so sad all the time, Kendall? Because you’re gay?”

My steps faltered, and I felt his body thud against my back, long and lanky and much too skinny. I almost fell forward, I was so unsteady on my feet, but James’s hands caught at my hips, my bicep, keeping me from landing on my face.

“I’m not sad,” I said, forcing a smile.

I tried to turn, to show it to him, but he kept his hands where they were, and even though he was so damn thin, he was still strong enough to hold me there. I could feel his breath on the back of my head, ruffling my hair, making the skin on my neck tingle.

“You’re really an _awful_ liar.”

James would know.

No matter how much he insisted he didn’t want to be my best friend anymore, he knew more about me than my own mother.

From the first day we met, he became the person I’d tell everything to, until the day I grew up without meaning to, the day I learned to keep secrets. He knew almost all the fears I had about my dad, about the huge crush I’d had on my fifth grade English teacher, and every horrifying detail about the first time I’d had sex with a girl.

Or at least, he used to. I didn’t know how much he remembered, and I was sort of scared to ask. I didn’t know if drugs were something that affected the brain cells where people store up all that stuff, the things friends tell them in confidence. They probably didn’t.

But I also didn’t want to hear that James didn’t care enough to remember.

“It was so easy for you?” I asked, trying to change the subject, “Figuring out you were gay?”

“It wasn’t any big thing,” James shrugged, “Sex is sex, with a guy or a girl.”

“Can you- tell me?” I could feel James stiffen behind me, feel his careful deliberation, feel it when he decided. His forehead rested against my hair, and he breathed against the knob of my neck.

“Sure. Okay. It- It was when we first got to LA. There was this intern, this guy at one of the modeling jobs I landed. He was prettier than me. I didn’t like it,” James laughed, dry and humorless, “But I liked his eyes. He had these green eyes, like fucking emeralds. We started talking, and we ended up going out to catch some concert at the beach, and it was only when he started dancing too close that I realized he thought it was a date.”

I didn’t like this story.

I didn’t know why I asked; maybe I wanted reassurance that I wasn’t the only person in the world who had ever had an identity crisis. I didn’t really believe James had taken this huge revelation in stride. It was impossible to believe, when all I could remember was the burning shame every time Chris yanked his hand from mine.

But now I realized that if James talked about when he’d first decided to get it on with a dude, I’d have to _listen_ to James talk about getting it on with a dude.

Who wasn’t me.

Jealousy was slicing though my stomach as hot and sick as nausea, and I didn’t want to hear anymore, not with James’s words against my spine, not in such an intimate position. Only, I couldn’t bring myself to interrupt.

“And then I thought, I don’t know, fuck it,” James laughed again, but this time he actually sounded amused by the memory. He said, “I was kind of proud of myself; I was so fucking hot even guys wanted me. And he was- his eyes were really beautiful. I let him kiss me.”

“What happened after that?”

I didn’t really want to know.

“Nothing. I met some girl, and she had bombastic legs, and I ended up dating her for six weeks. I totally forgot about him.”

“That’s _it_?”

I could feel the huff of James’s exhalation, the way he was a little bit irritated with my questions, but mostly kind of soft and fond, like he’d maybe wanted to tell this story for a long time.

“I met this guy on tour. I think we were in New York. He let me fuck him.”

And there was that jealousy thing again. I felt bile rise in my throat.

“It was good. So I let the next guy I meet fuck me. And on and on it went,” James sighed.

“Were there- a lot of guys?”

It wasn’t the kind of question I should have been asking. It was something teenage girls grilled their boyfriends about. It wasn’t something a twenty nine year old man should even have been thinking.

“Kendall,” James said softly, “You don’t really want to know that.”

He pulled away, his hands leaving my skin, my neck cold from the loss of his gentle exhalations.

“Come on, let’s go home.”

“No, but I really do want to know.”

“ _Wonderful_. I am not going to tell you.”

“Don’t you know?” I asked, and his eyes flashed.

“I’m not a whore. We’ve had this conversation. Several times.”

“I didn’t mean-“

“I know what you meant.”

“I thought- the drugs make it easier, to have meaningless sex?”

“ _Life_ makes it easier to have meaningless sex,” James said. He sounded tired.

“It’s just- Joseph said-“

“Don’t listen to Joseph. He exaggerates.”

It shouldn’t have mattered as much as it did; this thing with James was casual. But it didn’t feel that way. I’d never once gotten jealous over a casual fuck.

I figured it had to be because we were friends, because I had all these stupid friend like feelings tied up with whatever it was we were doing.

“Do you sleep with Joseph?” I asked. He didn’t answer.

I was fucking trashed, but I was still coherent enough to know that was the second time James had avoided the question.

“Tell me about you and Chris,” he commanded gently, changing the subject. My mouth tasted abruptly sour. It might’ve been the tequila coming back up on me. Or the vodka. Or the fucking whiskey.

“Why?”

James shrugged, “I’ve been thinking about it.”

“You knew him, right?” I wiped at my mouth.

“I did,” James agreed, still a few paces behind me.

“You never,” I felt my stomach clench, “You never slept with him, right?”

James laughed, “God no. What is with your avid interest in my sex life all of a sudden?”

I croaked, “Gee, it probably has something to do with how I’m a part of it, now.”

I turned to face him, because his footsteps had again thudded to a halt. He was standing there, backlit by the neon signs of a few seedy adult video stores, blinking, eyes going a little wide, like a forest creature in car headlights.

Then he said easily, “Yeah. I guess you are. Weird.”

Okay, that was what I’d been saying. It was nice to hear someone else acknowledge it.

“You didn’t realize that?”

“I just hadn’t thought about it. Like that, I mean,” he ducked his head, and now I couldn’t see his eyes at all; just the orange glow of a sign reading Live Nude Girls highlighting his hair. His face was still gaunt, shadowed, but man, he was so fucking handsome. Even though he’d been actively hating on the majority of our shopping trip, suspicion written across his features clear as day, he’d still been incredibly picky about the clothes I bought for him. He still threw around words like skin tone and color palette.

And I wondered what James had thought, all those times I’d wanted to broach the subject the last few days, only to be greeted with hard shoulders and the curve of his spine. I’d sort of been hoping that he was as conflicted as I was about the whole friends with benefits thing, but now I wasn’t so sure.

“You didn’t- I mean, you haven’t been using me. If that’s what you think. Not that I think that’s what you…I liked- I mean, I like it. Doing that stuff with you,” I finished lamely, aware that nothing I said was coherent.

James glanced up, lips a thin line, “You don’t have to-“

“No, I do,” I insisted, “You look…guilty. And you shouldn’t. You don’t have to be ashamed of it.”

“But you are,” James said quietly.

“I’m not.”

“Are you telling me that if I got on my knees, right here, right in the middle of LA, if I sucked you off where everyone could see us, you wouldn’t be horrified?”

“I-“

Actually that idea sounded incredibly hot, but I was drunk, and I’d sat through enough high school health courses to remember that my cognitive abilities were _severely_ impaired, even though I felt fine. Except for how bright everything was. When did things get so clear, like the world was oversaturated with color, and everything was moving at half-time?

Anyway, I knew all that, and I knew that maybe I wasn’t immediately recognizable to the general public if they weren’t sports fans, but-

“I wouldn’t be horrified because of you,” I told him. “Just-“

“You’re so scared of everyone else. You used to be so brave, Kendall. What happened?”

“Nothing,” I stared at my feet, feeling a little bit miserable. I could see the ground with such fucking clarity that I could identify the dirt, the cracks where countless tourists had stood, snapping pictures of the California dream.

It was my turn to try to change the subject.

“You look good, you know,” I said, gesturing to his clothes, his brand new jeans and t-shirt and shoes. He’d let me dress him up like a Ken doll, and before, yeah, it had made me sad. But with the haze of liquor he was beautiful.

“Please,” James tossed his head, “Ninety percent of fashion is not giving a fuck how you look.”

I smiled, remembering the way he used to preen and asked, “If you don’t give a fuck, why do- why did you always spend so much time in front of a mirror?”

James made a noise, an admonishment, “The general public shouldn’t be the only people who get to enjoy all this.”

He waggled his fingers up and down, and if I was sober, I probably would’ve found it sad, ludicrous. But drunk, it was just James being James. I laughed.

He didn’t.

“Tell me about Chris,” he said again.

“Are you sure you guys never-“

“Never. Not even once. He wasn’t my type,” James tugged his fresh haircut and muttered, “He was such a fucking self important jerk.”

I half smiled, because yeah. He kind of was. I remembered how he’d walk into a room and own it, all smiles and charisma. He had swagger. Just like someone else I used to know.

“So what was he?” James continued, “Your first kiss?”

“Funny,” I made a face at him, “No. You think you are very funny, but you are very wrong.”

“I meant with a guy,” James laughed.

“The answer is still no.”

“Wow. Weren’t you the little slut?”

“I would push you if the world was not spinning,” I declared, because it was now, rocking under my feet like the first tremor of an earthquake. Wasn’t there a fault line somewhere nearby?

“Please,” James made a noise, like he was desperate to hear all about the time stupid me got my stupid heart broken.

“He was, I guess he was my first boyfriend.”

James frowned at me. He frowned and frowned and then said bluntly, “You have terrible taste. Terrible, terrible taste.”

“Thank you. I’m acutely aware of that.”

“Did he- what did he do to you?”

“Same thing I did to Jo,” I shrugged, “He cheated on me. Found someone new. Fell in love. It’s kind of hard to hate someone for falling in love.”

I was laughing, even though I didn’t think it was funny. It felt good, all that noise building in my chest, escaping out into the thin air.

James’s hands balled into his fists, or, at least, I thought they did. He shoved them in the pockets of his new jeans and said, “I’m pretty sure I’d be able to manage. Hating him, I mean.”

“Yeah. Me too. I wonder if that makes me a bad person.”

“It doesn’t,” James said, exasperated, “You spend way too much time wondering what kind of person you are. And- if I’d known, I would have knocked his fucking teeth out.”

I was still laughing, still at a loss for what was so fucking funny. And through the laughter, I said, “Yeah. Me too. Hindsight’s a bitch. Is your phone ringing?”

He said, “No.”

And then I said, “I’m going to be sick.”

All that clarity went crashing away as I stumbled into a street lamp, leaned over, and puked my guts out. It was awful, this burning, wet feeling in my throat, my chest heaving uncontrollably, and I felt like I maybe was going to die, but then-

It was just like a memory, like the time I’d gotten too dehydrated during a playoff game, and I’d spent all of halftime puking in a dark corner of the locker room, making James swear not to tell coach while he pressed his hand against my back, the cloth of my sweat damp jersey wet against my spine. Like the first time I’d gotten well and truly drunk at Jenny Tinkler’s annual School’s-Back-In-Session-Let’s-Get-Alcohol-Poisoning-And-Call-Out-Sick-Tomorrow party. James had been there, with Logan, holding my arm so that I wouldn’t fall face first into the toilet.

And now here I was again, bent over a street corner, his warm, callused hands feverish on my skin, brushing my hair from my eyes, not even caring if it all splattered on his brand new sneakers.

“Shh. You’re fine, Kendall. You’re fine,” he whispered.  


  
\---

  
James led me back to my apartment. Every footstep I took felt wobbly and uncertain, and it was only his steady hands beneath the crook of my elbows that kept me from diving headfirst into the pavement. I could feel his palms burning through the thin fabric of my hoodie, and even with the sick taste in my mouth, arousal stirred low in my stomach.

When he pulled out my key, I didn’t bother acting surprised. I let him guide me into my apartment. He propped me up against the counter while he fetched a glass of water.

“Drink.”

I did, even though it tasted like metal. Once I was finished, I set the glass on the counter with a clink and said, “James.”

“You done?”

He hadn’t turned on any of the lights. I think he liked it better in the darkness. I’d noticed that, before, the way he seemed to savor the way things turned colorless and soft.

“Yeah. You- you’re not really drunk, are you.”

He paused, a step away from me, and then he said, “No.”

I heard the soft buzz of his brand new phone and said, “I think you have a call.”

James shoved his hand in his pocket, muting the sound, “No I don’t.”

“Okay, no you don’t,” I agreed, and then I kissed him.

It was probably a little gross; he’d seen me empty my stomach on a random street corner about ten minutes before. But he kissed me back, like maybe he didn’t care how my mouth tasted. I licked into the soft places he offered me, the curve of his lips and the swell of his tongue, the hard veneers of his teeth. I fought him for dominance, but it was a losing battle. Even as a ghost, James was still an amazing kisser.

Without breaking pressure or stride, he guided me backwards, into the bedroom, the pale glow of Los Angeles’s streets the only light we had to see by. His hands against my ribcage felt like thorns, sending a sharp, stinging feeling deep in my chest. He had this look in his eyes, this clear-eyed intensity that I recognized from a thousand hockey games, from concerts with flashing lights and screaming girls. I associated that look with this single minded determination to win at whatever he was doing, with sweat slick on his throat, his cheeks flush with exertion, and the adrenaline rush of victory.

And in that startling, terrifying moment, I realized James wasn’t high. He wasn’t even drunk. I was the one who was buzzed out of my brain. His lips were burning hot against mine, and the skin of his face was still smooth from his shave and my heart was pounding dizzyingly in my chest. And I thought maybe, maybe it would be okay if I tried to touch him.

Maybe he’d let me get away with it if I was the one who wasn’t completely in control.

My fingers drifted down the front of his chest, down to his jeans. The second I touched the shape of his cock, he stiffened, pulling away.

“Kendall.”

“Let me,” I said, begging, already unbuckling his belt, “Please, _let_ me.”

He stared at me, long and hard, and it was only when I began pulling his belt from the loops that he nodded.

Selfish confession time? I hated giving blowjobs. I mean, they were _boring_. All that work, with no payoff at all for _me_ , especially now that I was nearing thirty. Unless I was getting it on with a younger guy, someone with actual endurance, reciprocation wasn’t high on my list of expectations.

But here’s the thing. With James, I was one hundred percent positive it wouldn’t be boring. Watching random strangers get off, while mildly hot, didn’t really do much for me anymore. Watching James, though?

Yeah. I figured that was something I could really get into. I wanted it more than anything.

One hand still fumbling with his belt, I used the other to push him back against the bed. The liquor made me weak, uncoordinated, but James stumbled a few feet and then, obligingly he sat, laying back, gaze never leaving my face.  
Awkwardly, I climbed up on the bed, pushing him back until his head hit my pillows. In the dark of my apartment the whites of his eyes glowed. His teeth too, I saw, when I pulled a little too roughly on his zipper and he winced. He didn’t say anything though. He didn’t once tell me not to rush or to be careful.

I shoved his jeans and boxers low around his knees, enough so that he could move his legs apart but had limited movement. It kept him from having control. He didn’t get that. Not anymore.

I raked the tips of my fingers over the shape of his hips, the jut of bone and the place where my palm fit, flat against the barely-there contour of his stomach. His dick twitched, and he said, “You’re a tease.”

Being a tease sounded like fun, actually.

I scooted back down his legs, where the denim of his jeans crumpled. Slow, soft, I kissed the skin on the outside of his left leg, feather light, darting over to the inside of his knee. As slow as I possibly could, I moved up his thigh, kissing, licking, sucking. I used my teeth, at some points, nipping at his skin, lathing my tongue over the places I bit to soothe them. He made a soft noise, squirming. Every inch or so, I’d pause; spell out my name with my tongue or suck until he arched into my mouth, into the lightly blossoming bruise I was creating. My hands moved up his other leg, tracing nonsense designs, light as I could manage.

The closer I got to his dick, the rougher I got, sucking a mark high onto the inside of his thigh. Right before I reached his balls, I ducked back down, doing the other leg, leaving a trail of red-purple up the inside of his right thigh, mouthing a line from his knee to his hipbone.

James was rocking his hips up into the air, looking for friction. Panting, saying, “ _Kendall_.”

I was already hard in my jeans, and he was so, so gorgeous. Making a decision, I spit on my hand and took hold, fingers curling around his cock. It was always weird, different; another man’s shape. The weight of James in my palm made me bite my lip. God, I fucking wanted this. I leaned down, tonguing the tip of him. My mouth stretched around the head of his dick, and I licked along the underside until my lips hit my hand.

His legs strained against the confines of his jeans. I could feel him shift restlessly under me, urging me to speed up. It took a few minutes of slow, fumbling slides before I built up a rhythm, but once I did James made this amazing strangled sound. I thought maybe it was supposed to be my name.

Vaguely, in the back of my head I heard my high school health teacher’s voice telling me to use condoms, even for oral sex, even if I trusted my partner. I did it with the few random guys I actually engaged in foreplay with, but latex tasted gross, and besides, this was James. He’d trusted me enough to put his mouth all over my body, no protection needed, even after I told him that my little sister hooked me up with an escort. And maybe it was really stupid- no, definitely, it was really fucking stupid, trusting him after Guitar Dude told me how many guys he’d tracked back and forth through their shithole of a home. But I didn’t care. Because this was James, and maybe I didn’t actually trust him not to run away, not to inadvertently kill himself with drugs, not to steal anything in my apartment that wasn’t nailed down. But not to hurt me, if he thought there was a chance he could? In that, I trusted him implicitly.

I tried things that felt good when I was jerking myself off, twisting my wrist when I stroked him, flicking my tongue out across the head of his dick intermittently. He made these noises that bordered on obscene, and I did whatever I could to make them louder, to make him fall apart.

“Kendall, _fuck_.”

I tried to make suction, to pull at the length of him with my lips, my lungs, my breath. His hips worked with me, his fingers laced at my hair, pulling, telling me when to go faster, when it was okay to be rougher. When he began to chant my name, I knew he was close, and I worked my lips around him to the rhythm of, “Kendall, Kendall, _Kendall_.”

He came in my mouth with a whimper. The taste of him burned down my throat, hotter than anything I’d drank that night.  


  
\---

  
I woke up near four in the morning, mouth dry, with a pressing need to pee and a buzzing sound in my ears. And then I realized it wasn’t in my head at all; James’s phone was lit up on the nightstand, vibrating over and over again. I glanced down at him; he was dead to the world. Trying to be careful, I reached across his body, fingers fumbling for the phone. I pressed the button on the side that would make all the noise go silent until the call went to voicemail, but I couldn’t help catching the name on the display. Joseph.

I fell back asleep with the taste of James on my lips, my mind turning over and over again.  


  
\---

  
James wasn’t around when I woke up the next morning. This petty part of me wondered if he’d ran back to Guitar Dude, but this other, huge part of me was more concerned about the pounding in my head. I downed like, three aspirins, because I was a total pussy when it came to hangovers. I wanted to stay in bed for the rest of the day, but I’d already made plans, and besides, curled up beneath my covers I kept thinking about James, and the sounds he made, and all the stupid calls he’d been ignoring all night.

They were all from Joseph, I’d have bet. Back at the Palm Woods, I never had a problem with Guitar Dude. I liked his relaxed, stoner vibe. Logan had practically idolized the kid, which I was almost positive had something to do with the way they smoked pot behind the shed every month as a recreational activity.

James put a stop to that, eventually, when he figured it out. He was convinced the smoke would be hell on Logan’s lungs.

“You’re already a little pitchy,” he had warned. Logan eventually quit just to shut him up.

But now? If Guitar Dude still had a guitar, I’d fucking break it. Not the same way James did to mine, the neck all in pieces, wires splayed across the frets in curlicues. No, I’d bash it over his fucking head.

And okay, maybe I wouldn’t actually do that, but the thought cheered me up.

I did the first thing on my list, which is to call Gustavo, but the second he figured out it was me on the line, he hung up. So, yeah, no, that wasn’t what I was hoping for.

And it left me with my second choice option, which involved actually taking a shower and throwing on a pair of clean jeans. I ended up taking a cab to Wainwright Productions and waiting in the lobby for half an hour before a sour faced secretary informed me that meetings with the president were by appointment only. Lucky me, it was at that exact moment that Kelly walked into the lobby, all classy business suit and towering stilettos.

I called her name. When she turned, she kind of looked like someone shot her favorite pet in the forehead.

“Kendall! Wow! Hi!” Kelly punctuated each word with high pitched surprise. She waved off her mean secretary and ushered me into her office, obviously dealing with the shock in her own way.

“Hey, Kelly.”

“Long time,” she mused, and finally she relented and gave me a huge bear hug, rivaled only by Camille’s, “You never visit.”

“I visit,” I said, and it felt strangely like the conversation I’d had with Gustavo a few days before.

“No you don’t.”

“I do,” I insisted, “But I can’t announce when I swing by. How would I manage to keep you on your toes? I live for the suspense.”

“You think you’re clever, trying to weasel yourself out of everything,” Kelly sighed, “You haven’t changed at all.”

I shrugged, because I wasn’t about to pour my woes into her lap.

“You have though. Look at this office,” I gestured to the floor to ceiling windows, “This is fancy. I thought record producers weren’t allowed to have so much space- the acoustics?”

“Unlike some other record producers I can name, I don’t actually compose anything. No need for sound proofing.”

“Lucky you’ve got a good ear,” I tapped the side of her head, “Or you’d never make it.”

“Please,” Kelly laughed, “I could be tone deaf and still successful in this town, what with the connections I made through you guys. How is everyone? I heard Carlos is going to have a baby.”

“He is. We’re all terrified he’s going to treat it like a trained monkey.”

Kelly laughed, “He’s going to be a great dad.”

“He really is,” I agreed.

“And he’s doing so well. I heard they’re talking Oscar for his new movie, and it hasn’t even come out.”

“He’s a superstar,” I said wryly.

“He’s not the only one. Isn’t your team in the running for the Stanley Cup?”

“How do you know that?”

“Athletes are hot,” Kelly winked, “If you ever want to introduce me to any of your teammates, I wouldn’t have a problem with it.”

I snorted, but I didn’t say anything negative about them. As much as I hated the jokes, the lack of support sometimes, my team wasn’t all bad. I liked a few of them, even. It was the other teams that were always gunning for me.

“So,” Kelly said, “What can I help you with?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“As nice as it is, you _visiting_ , there has to be a reason.”

“Aside from a fervent desire to see your pretty face?”

“Aside from that,” she deadpanned, not fooled in any way.

“Well. I heard there’s a James Diamond demo album floating around out there, somewhere, and I was wondering if you had any leads on it.”

“You can’t just get a copy from James?”

Yeah, no. I already knew even asking him would be a bad idea. I didn’t even have proof positive that there was a second album. Before I’d come out to LA again, I’d heard only vague internet rumors and read a blind item from People. It was Carlos who’d confirmed its existence. I’m not sure if I’d even really believed in it before he said so. But there was no way I could ask James. He would eat me. Or, I don’t know, throw his new belt buckle from Kitson straight at my fucking head.

“James isn’t- he’s not doing so well,” I hedged.

“Oh,” Kelly blinked, and then she said, “There have been rumors, but I didn’t think they were true. That’s- wow.”

“Um. Okay, wait, what kind of rumors have you been hearing?”

“That he’s running heroin for a Mexican drug cartel and hooking up and down La Cienega.”

“Um. What?”

“Perez Hilton,” Kelly said by way of explanation, “When you read between the lines you get- well, he’s really on drugs?”

“Wait, how long have you known this?”

“James isn’t really high on anyone’s radar right now,” she paused, “I think the last time I read one of the articles was two or three years ago?”

“You heard he was on drugs _three years ago_ and you didn’t tell any of us?”

“A- I read it on Perez, not the Skull and Bone Society Newsletter. It’s not like it was some big secret. B- I didn’t actually believe it. Gossip columnists, hell, the news is always getting things wrong. You should know that. When no more articles turned up, I figured they had no proof and thus, there was nothing to worry about. And C- I’m not your baby sitter, Kendall. Not anymore.”

I was pissed that I’d never read anything like that. I’d Googled James’s name eighty thousand times in the past three years since his disappearance. No headlines screaming _Junkie_ had ever popped out at me. Then again, it wasn’t like I read Perez. He didn’t always have very nice things to say about the band, and Carlos was the only one who still made his feed, anymore.

“About the demo?” I prompted, and it might have come out like a snarl.

“Kendall, I didn’t mean it like that. Is he okay?”

“He was gone,” I said, “For a few years now. Just- gone. He stopped calling. Carlos couldn’t track him down. I- we were all worried, but we figured he was sick of the spotlight.”

“And?” Kelly’s forehead was creased, and I knew that despite her harsh words, she was genuinely worried. She’d always treated us like friends. Slightly annoying, somewhat untamable friends.

“We found him a few weeks ago, in a bar. He’s- he’s really sick, Kelly.”

“Kendall. I’m sorry.”

“I’m trying to help him, but-“ I waved a hand vaguely in the air and said, “The, the, um, demo?”

“I’ve got a copy. You know Gustavo went insane when James refused to record the solo album with Rocque Records, right?”

“I thought Gustavo didn’t want to do an album with James?”

“He didn’t, until he realized he couldn’t. And then he did. He was ecstatic when the album bombed; it was crap, and everyone knew it. And Gustavo had looked over some of James’s original songs. He wanted to give it a second go, do another album. His assistant told me.”

“Wait, you’re spying on Gustavo?”

“That- is not important. I wanted James on board. We needed a big name, because the company was what, two years old?” Kelly glanced around her office fondly, “And James is one of the best male pop vocalists out there. Being not nearly as proud as Gustavo, I managed to ask him to come in first. He laid down a couple of tracks, but- he stopped coming back to the studio. A couple of months later I heard he was in talks with another company. Which turned out to be a lie. He really disappeared? Carlos called me, asked if I’d seen him, but he didn’t- he didn’t sound that worried. When I didn’t hear from him again, I figured he’d tracked him down.”

“Must have been early days.”

“I, uh, vaulted the demo. Wainwright Productions owns the copyright to all five songs. Insurance, in case he decided to jump ship.”

“You were going to blackmail James with his own music?”

“If I had to,” she shrugged, “Don’t look at me like that. You know what it’s like to have your talent scoped? It’s expensive.”

“You’re cutthroat,” I told her, but I smiled to let her know I didn’t mean it. We had players stolen from the Wild all the time. If we could buy their moves, make them stay, we’d do it in a second. Business is business.

“My point being, if a single note of this gets out, I’ll own your ass.”

“Kelly,” I said amiably, “I’m pretty sure you could own my ass eight ways until Sunday if you let half the shit I did in BTR get out.”

“Valid argument.”

She took out a tiny key and opened a drawer. Then she began fiddling with a safe hidden inside it. When she opened it up, I could see a few shiny CDs in clear plastic cases. She pulled one from the bottom that simply read, _James_.

“I’ll burn you a copy,” she muttered, “I used to have all the tracks saved on my computer too, but we keep getting hacked. And the master flash drive’s in the bigger safe, downstairs. This might take a minute.”

She went about the business of popping the CD into her computer, all the while saying, “And how are you doing, with all of this? You were always closest to James. It’s got to be hard.”

I frowned and said carefully, “I’m kind of messed up right now.”

Kelly smiled, “Aren’t we all?”

“I don’t remember you going through so much crap when you were in your twenties.”

“Kendall, you didn’t pay all that much attention to me.”

“I didn’t pay all that much attention to anyone, apparently.”

“True. But for the record, few people like growing up. I’m included in that. It’s hard,” her eyes went distant, staring out one of her huge windows. She was looking in the direction of Rocque Records.  
“Gustavo misses you, you know.”

Kelly rolled her eyes, “One of these days he might even apologize.”

“You could bridge the gap.”

“I can’t,” Kelly shrugged, “Then he won’t have learned anything.”

“So what, you’re trying to teach him a lesson?”

“I’m trying to say that growing up is hard, but everyone needs to do it eventually. Even Gustavo Rocque.”

I glanced out the window, towards Rocque Records and then I nodded, “You might be right.”

“I usually am,” she agreed, “It’s a curse. Here’s your album.”

“Thanks, Kelly.”

“Anytime,” she gave me a hug, “Maybe next time you come visit, you won’t ask for anything?”

“Will do,” I promised, clutching the CD and wondering if I was brave enough to listen to it.  


  
\---

 

 

 

 


	21. Shut Your Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Future!Fic. Kendall returns to L.A. six years after Big Time Rush disbanded. James has been missing for years. Imagine how things change when James reappears in his life. And he needs help.

**Title:** Shut Your Eyes  
 **Authors:**  [](http://goten0040.livejournal.com/profile)[ **goten0040**](http://goten0040.livejournal.com/)   and [](http://garnetice.livejournal.com/profile)[ **garnetice**](http://garnetice.livejournal.com/)    
 **Chapter:** 21  
 **Rating:** M  
 **Ship(s):** Kendall/James, Carlos/Stephanie, Logan/Camille, maybe more.  
 **Summary:** Future!Fic. Kendall returns to L.A. six years after Big Time Rush disbanded. James has been missing for years. Imagine how things change when James reappears in his life. And he needs help.  
 **Previous Chapters:**[1](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/852.html#cutid1), [2](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1274.html), [3](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1511.html#cutid1), [4](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1554.html#cutid1), [5](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1996.html#cutid1), [6](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2234.html), [7](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2308.html#cutid1), [8](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2649.html), [9](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2935.html#cutid1), [10](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/3210.html), [11](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/3342.html#cutid1), [12](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/3705.html#cutid1), [13](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/3896.html#cutid1), [14](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/4461.html#cutid1), [15](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/4834.html#cutid1), [16](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/4876.html#cutid1), [17](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/5215.html), [18](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/5571.html#cutid1), [19](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/5870.html#cutid1), [20](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/5966.html#cutid1)

Chapter Twenty-One

There was something very depressing about Wainwright Records, I thought, as I made my way out. Then again, I seemed to find depression in everything I came across. But still, moving through the sleek, glass-adorned lobby, past the snooty looking receptionists and the plush, modern looking furniture, it felt… empty.

Yes. Very spacious and empty.

Kind of like Rocque Records. The pieces of the puzzle weren’t fitting together anymore. None were. I felt like the entire Big Time Rush family was scattering, the pieces getting chipped off or worn down, so the puzzle had gaps, and I didn’t like that. But it wasn’t like I hadn’t been aware of it. Yeah, we’d been scattered for a long time.

I guess I just didn’t realize the effects until we were all back together.

I held James’ album close to my chest, like I could feel my heart beating through the little plastic case, vibrating in my hands. It was mine. My own little treasure, a secret that I didn’t have to share with anyone unless I wanted to. Inside that little disc was James’ heart, his mind, his soul. And not the James I was currently sleeping with. No, it was the real James, the James that I longed for, the one that I missed, the one that meant everything to me.

But there was a fear within me about that album. Because I was afraid what I would come to know by diving into his heart and mind. I obviously hadn’t known him as well as I thought before. More surprises could enlighten me, yes, but they could also destroy me.

It was like I was playing Russian roulette with my heart.

And yes, I’m aware of how cheesy and stupid that sounds in hindsight.

I was a little worried about my feelings at that point. I had gotten to touch James, to hear him pant and moan and beg, and Christ… that was a pretty big thing. Especially because he hadn’t been high or drunk or anything.  
But why not? James had been nearly blazed every time I’d seen him, and if he wasn’t when we met up, he would be by the time he inevitably left in some sort of tantrum. And that night, he’d been clearer than glass, his eyes taking that familiar sheen that I once knew him to have. And for that moment, neither of us were fucked up or flawed. It made my heart flutter a little in my chest. I didn’t have an answer to why he wasn’t high that night, but I had a million questions.

Mostly pertaining to myself.

Because it was getting to where I was feeling sick when I thought about him. In a good way. Like when I’d had a crush on anyone in my youth.

And that was a big no. Because it was supposed to casual, wasn’t it? Not that we had ever made any agreement, but it seemed pretty clear. I felt like maybe I had made a mistake in ever letting him touch me, suck me off, drag me into his world. Casual sex was one thing, but James and I had history.

That made things insanely different, and I should have thought about it. Casual sex with strangers was simple. Casual sex with friends had feelings involved.

Sex was easy. Love was hard.

Love.

I looked down at the CD in my hand and frowned, standing in the middle of that bleached sidewalk, the sun raining heat into my hair. I suddenly felt stifled by it, scooting into a coffee shop and dropping into an armchair, just hoping the air conditioning would seep into my pores.

“Kendall?”

I looked up. It was Jo.

Fuck.

“Oh, hey,” I greeted, plastering on a smile and slipping the CD under my thigh. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m out with some friends,” she said, looking at me gently. “Are you alright?”

I looked up at her. She tucked a tiny curl behind her ear. It was strange how her hair curled at the ends when it was short. She was worried. It lined the sides of her eyes.

“Yeah,” I answered. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

“You just… don’t look too good.”

Well, I was hungover, I had to admit, so I figured that was what she saw. “Oh, I’m just tired. I haven’t been sleeping very well.”

She tilted her head to the side, studying me. I felt the burn of her gaze.

“I can tell.”

Was it that obvious? Then again, when I thought about it, I hadn’t really slept without the help of some sort of drug in a good while. My mind was wandering on why that might have been when she interrupted me.

“What’ve you got there?”

“Nothing,” I piped.

She grinned. “What, is it a porn DVD or something?”

“No,” I argued childishly, giving her a pointed glare that only amused her further.

“Okay, okay. Fine.”

It was kind of nice, seeing her smile and knowing I was the cause. I hadn’t caused her smile in a long time, and I still felt guilty for all the tears.

“Jo, let’s go!” One of her friends was calling from the door. I recognized her as someone who used to frequent the Palm Woods with her, but I never caught her name because it was long after we broke up. I did remember her being a massive bitch though. Then again, she knew I was Jo’s ex and probably took it upon herself as Jo’s friend to hate me. So no hard feelings.

“Hold on a second, okay?” She snapped over her shoulder, though it was in fairly good humor. Then she looked back at me with this soft look in her eyes. “Look, just… I’m trying to move past everything. I felt bad about Disneyland.”

“Don’t,” I said. “You have every right to be angry.”

“I know… but…” she sighed. “You don’t look well, Kendall. Just… take care of yourself, okay? And don’t hesitate to call me if you need me, alright?”

I couldn’t stop myself. “Do I really look that bad?”

Jo chewed on her lip, her eyes darting to her impatiently waiting friend.

“I noticed at Disneyland… you looked pretty strung out. I thought maybe you were just tired but…”

“I’m fine, Jo,” I said.

“I trust you,” she replied. “But I’ll still worry.” She kissed me on my cheek, patting the place with a lotion-scented hand. “So take care, okay?”

I looked her in the eyes, and I tried not to feel guilty. “I’ll try.”

It was the least I could promise her.

…

I called James on my way home. I didn’t know why, but Jo had gotten to me. I was catching my reflection in store windows and wondering when I started to look so skinny, so tired, so… old. And I still had that disc, burning in my mind, and fear, freezing in my gut. And though I didn’t plan on letting him know I had it, somehow I thought maybe calling him would give me a little courage.

But he didn’t answer.

I tried again back at the apartment.

Nothing. It just rang and rang and rang.

I frowned, dropping the album on the counter and staring at my phone. I couldn’t get the vision out of my head from the night before – James silencing that phone every time Guitar Dude called him, kissing me, moaning my name, sleeping soundly next to me. And Joseph’s words: _Just because his mouth’s been on your dick doesn't make you special, so don’t start thinking it does._

And here I was debating what exactly was happening, where the feelings were coming into play.

That album had all the answers. It really, truly, did. I knew it did. But I couldn’t stand to find out that maybe I really was the cause for James’ fall from grace. Maybe I had really not been there, even though I really thought I was.

I wasn’t fucking perfect. Frustrating, right?

I slid the CD on top of my fridge, where I knew he wouldn’t look, and hoped that I could gather my nerve to listen to it… eventually.

He didn’t come back that night though, and when I laid down to sleep that night, my mind got away from me. I kept seeing James and Joseph, tangled in each other’s limbs, trading sloppy kisses and needles, hands roaming down to places considered sacred by some. I kept hearing James’ voice, but not moaning my name – but _Joseph Joseph Joseph_ over and over and over, driving me mad.

I gritted my teeth and sat up in bed, calling him again, not giving a shit what the hour was.

Again, there was no answer. I slammed the phone down on the nightstand and curled up, glaring at the wall. I didn't like not knowing where he was. I didn’t want to wonder what he was putting in his body, whether he was alive or not.

Oh, God.

Alive.

And Guitar Dude looked so skinny and frightening. James wasn’t that far behind him.

I didn’t know what to do. He wouldn’t answer his phone, and after running into Joseph at their typical hangout, I really didn’t want to risk going to look for him. I inhaled his scent, all over the bed, and longed for him.

Yeah. I was in love. Pretty sure.

I never found love to be very convenient. After all, everyone I’d fallen for in the past didn’t work out. And Chris… he shattered me. And it wasn’t like James was a safe bet to fall for. To him, it was still casual. He really didn’t seem to have too many feelings period, much less any pertaining to me. But even after all the years of knowing him, I couldn’t read him through. Not anymore. But I didn’t know this James as well.

How could I be in love with someone I really didn’t know? I mean, I knew who he used to be, and I had a small clue as to who he became, but… that really didn’t count. James Diamond wasn’t the same person that I grew up with, the person I shared a soda with in ninth grade and then shared mono with two days later. He wasn’t the kid that busted ice and jumped into a lake of frozen water because I’d fallen in. He wasn’t the boy who sang through the hallways, always a new tune, when the rest of our high school peers just dragged throughout the day.

But no. No. He was that person. Just because he had changed didn’t mean he was never that person.

My head hurt.

Morning hit me hard. I hadn’t slept at all, and I was hurting and lonely, and even worse, head over heels.  
I dragged myself out of bed, pissed that I couldn’t sleep, and found myself haunting my apartment like some sort of sluggish ghost. I didn’t have the energy to leave, and I didn’t want to miss James coming back.  
He was probably off fucking Guitar Dude. He never did answer my question. The jealousy was eating me alive. I drank a large cup of coffee, filled with sugar, and then spent the rest of the time jittering and watching TV and glancing nervously at the top of my fridge.

That night and the next day went exactly the same. I couldn’t eat because it made me feel sick, and I couldn’t sleep because my mind wouldn’t shut off, and I finally dove into a bottle of vodka in hopes that I could finally rest my weary body and tell my mind to shut the fuck up for a change.

That was when Logan showed up.

I was already half buzzed when the timid knock came on the door. I stared at it for a long time, as if I’d forgotten how to make my fingers work, to wrap around the knob and pull it open. But eventually, after it was clear Logan’s patience had subsided, I opened the door and found him eying me with those big, brown, overly-cautious eyes of his.

The alcohol burned in my gut and reminded me that I was really fucking pissed at him.

“What now?” I groaned.

Logan bristled, pushing past me, into my apartment, into my space, where James and I had shared and…

“I didn’t welcome you inside.”

“Kendall,” Logan started. “You’re drunk-“

“No, I’m not.” I was only buzzed, but I was itching for a fight, and this one had been a long time coming.

“Fine, you’re not. You’re buzzed. But I need to talk to you, so try to pay attention?”

“Don’t talk down to me, Logan.”

“I’m not trying to-“ Logan’s jaw was set, and I could tell I was already irritating that delicate exterior. He shook his head, trying to get back to the topic at hand. “Look, I talked to Carlos about this last night, and Stephanie…”

“Yeah, and everyone else in my fucking life but me,” I grumbled, slinking off to the kitchen for another drink.

Logan followed behind, quick on his short legs. It always really helped in a hockey match. Carlos was always one of the fastest, but Logan was fairly agile too considering he wasn’t a huge fan of the sport when we started.

“Kendall, I’m trying to talk to you.”

“I don’t want a fucking lecture, Logan.”

Logan made this weird frustrated sound, slamming his hand down on the counter to prove he was serious. “W-well, tough! You’re getting one!”

I glowered at him.

“Look at you!” He exclaimed, “What’s happened, Kendall? We never see you, and when we do, you’re beat up, buzzed, or just plain down! You were at dinner the other day and you just completely isolated yourself from us. What’s going on with you?”

I shrugged.

Logan looked more frustrated. “Are you serious? Just a shrug?”

“What do you want me to say? Hold on, I’ll answer that. Nothing. You don’t want me to talk, because you’re too busy fucking talk-talk-talking.”

Logan drummed his fingers on the counter. “I know what this is. This is all James. He’s dragging you down with him, Kendall! I don’t want you to end up where he is!”

“I’m not—“

“Stop! You’re skinny, you’re tired all the time, and you’re moody! You’re… you’re different! You can’t say that James hasn’t changed you-“

“I was like this before James showed up,” I hissed.

There was a long moment of silence in which Logan stared me down, as if he was trying to figure me out. Like a math problem.

Or maybe a puzzle with really worn pieces.

“No. No you weren’t. You weren’t this… this… delusional. You were happy.”

I felt a pang in my chest. James’ words played in my mind like a horrifying melody. _Why are you so sad all the time, Kendall? Is it because you’re gay?_

No. I wasn’t happy. I was fucking pretending. And somehow, it hurt me more that Logan didn’t realize that. James did.

“What do you want from me, Logan?”

“I want you to stop seeing James. Kendall, he can’t be saved. You need to-“

“He can! You don’t know if he can or not! You don’t know him anymore!”

“Neither do you!” Logan fought back, his voice rising. “You don’t know him! You have convinced yourself that he is just like how he used to be, but he’s not! Get it through your skull! He’s using you!”

“He’s NOT!” I yelled, and my voice felt raw and rough in my throat.

“Kendall, he’s just a drug-head now.”

“Stop it, Logan. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh?! When have I not? Kendall, I’m the one that’s saved your ass multiple times! I had to be your fucking conscience because you never understood what one WAS!”

“I didn’t ask you to do that! I didn’t want you to! Maybe I wanted to live my life the way I wanted?!”

“Is this what you wanted? Living in this fucking apartment with nothing happening in your life? It’s been weeks, Kendall. You don’t just get off work that long. You’ve been hiding from everything in here! So what is it? What’s going on! Come out with it!”

“It’s none of your damn business!”

“Kendall, I’m trying to help-“

“Oh, yeah. I could totally use some help from a guy who’s still, after all these fucking years, too afraid to talk to a fucking woman.”

Logan choked on his next words, so I kept going. I couldn’t stop.

“All our fucking lives, you were too afraid to say a word, to make a move, to do anything based on impulse. And the only time you did was when I told you to. You never made a decision like that on your own. Maybe I don’t want you running my life because all you’ve ever tried to do is impress me. That’s all you ever gave a shit about, was impressing the people around you. Oooh, look at how smart I am! Oooh, look at how popular I am! Oooh! Check out this backflip! You’re such a fucking attention whore!”

“WHAT?! Do you even hear yourself?! You and James were always the ones wanting the spotlight…e—especially James! And I didn’t come here to impress you. I wanted to spend time with you. That’s what this whole trip was about!”

“Oh, and when were you gonna pencil me in, Logan? Between stumbling around conversation and wishing you could fuck Camille, and trying to leech off of Carlos’ family?!”

Logan shoved me, his cheeks flushing red, and I seriously thought about shoving back, but my movement was a little impaired by alcohol so I decided against it. Even though my blood was boiling. I kept talking.

“Or maybe after you finish trying to convince my mom that I’m fucked up so you look like the sweet precious little angel she always wanted!”

“This has NOTHING to do with me!” Logan tried to fight back, but his words were starting to get broken up by shallow, angry breaths. “You’re trying to shovel all this blame on me and STOP IT! I’m trying to help you!”

“Well maybe I don’t want your help!” I screamed, finally, and my voice reverberated around the kitchen and disappeared into silence. “Why don’t you go bury yourself in your work so you don’t have to remember how fucking lonely you are!”

“Yeah, how’s that working for you?!”

My mind had left me, but my mouth kept running. Finally, in a low voice, I spoke again.

“Why don’t you just pack your shit and go back to Florida and get the fuck out of my life?”

Logan’s face fell, his dark eyes wide and lost, like a child that had just been told Santa wasn’t real.

“Is that what you want?” He asked, and his voice was tiny, barely audible with the roar in my ears.

“Yes.”

Logan’s eyelashes fluttered a little, but he kept his composure. “Fine. You know what? That’s just fine. Let’s just flush this friendship down the toilet and move on with our lives.”

“Fine.”

“Fine!”

Logan whirled around and stomped out the door.

As soon as it slammed, I regretted every word. But I couldn’t go after him.

I looked at my hands. They were shaking.

…

I didn’t sleep again that night. My phone kept buzzing with calls from Carlos. I never answered, and ended up turning the damn thing off. I figured he’d show up eventually, but I could always just ignore his knocking too.

The alcohol may have knocked me out for a couple of hours – though I was buzzed when I fought with Logan, I practically drowned myself in it after he left – because when I woke up, the sun was peeking in through the window and my head was pounding.

I really didn’t give a fuck how nauseous I was or how bad my head was hurting. The overwhelming feeling that I had fucked up big time was weighing me into the mattress. Logan’s face was so clear in my mind, those large eyes of his, those perfect teeth… fading. He was frowning. And all the words I had said were playing over and over in my ears, a constant, horrible loop.

My own words were poisoning me.

I got up, trying to find strength, but I only stumbled into the wall, leaning against it, wishing I could take back everything that had happened, everything I said. Knowing Logan, he was probably halfway back to Florida. Camille would be devastated. Carlos would be even more upset.

But what the fuck were we playing at? It wasn’t like we could just hang around L.A. forever and pretend we were kids again. It just wasn’t how the world worked. Logan had to go back to work, and it’d be so much easier for him to do that without me burdening him.

Yeah, that was what it was. I was just a burden to him. I’d fallen so far from what I had been. I was no longer what he needed, so I didn’t want to bother him. So maybe I was doing what was best, sending him away.

Maybe I was better off alone.

It didn’t seem like James would be coming back anyway. Maybe I’d been fucking kidding myself the entire time, convincing myself that anyone gave enough of a crap about me to care.

So I decided to listen to the CD. I figured I didn’t have anything left to lose.

The first song started off with a simple piano melody, moving along gently across the keys. And his voice faded in so beautifully, so differently than I’d ever heard it.

_All these words are my own_  
Tryin’ to act like I am grown  
But you’re leaving  
And I’m grieving cause I’m  
Stuck believing I could have you to myself 

The truth. I was about to learn it all. And he sounded so sad, so heartbroken. I felt terrible. I had left him and he needed me, and God… I needed him too. I’d fucked up on all kinds of levels. I hadn’t just ruined his life, I’d ruined mine.

_I am gonna miss that smile_  
The one that made the bad things all worthwhile  
My world is changing  
It’s rearranging and I can’t  
Keep restraining all the words inside my heart 

Was he talking about my smile? When his could light up a room, was he actually talking about mine? And how he was going to miss it? I didn’t realize how different it was, not being able to see someone. I thought everything was fine then. I was so stupid.

_Don’t be afraid to let your wings soar_  
I’ve got your back; That’s what I’m here for  
I won’t hold you back anymore  
Lift your head high just like the dreamer  
I can see in your eyes that you’ve got that fever I adore 

I started trembling, the words washing over me like cold water, waking me out of my hangover haze. The realization that the song was actually about me, actually supporting my leaving way back when…

_What are you waiting for?_

Tears sprang to my eyes.

_I don’t wanna be alone_  
I’m terrified of the unknown  
Don’t wanna do this  
Don’t wanna have to say goodbye  
But I promise that I’ll lie this time 

_Did you expect any less?_  
I know I’m selfish but I’ve… I’ve made some progress.  
Know I’m trying though  
Inside I’m crying so  
Start defying all those who ever let you down 

He had tried so hard to be what I needed. And I couldn’t even measure up to what any of my friends needed anymore. I was weeping freely by that point, bowing my head and sobbing and wishing I was worth his beautiful words.

_Don’t be afraid to let your wings soar_  
I've got your back; That’s what I’m here for  
I won’t hold you back anymore  
Lift your head high just like the dreamer  
I can see in your eyes that you’ve got that fever I adore 

_What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? What are you waiting for?_

I didn’t know. I didn’t know what I was waiting for. I didn’t know what had been taking me so goddamn long to figure it out.

_Time to let you go_  
Though it hurts me so  
I just want you to know… 

_Don’t be afraid to let your wings soar_  
I’ve got your back; That’s what I’m here for  
I won’t hold you back anymore  
Lift your head high just like the dreamer  
I can see in your eyes that you’ve got that fever I adore 

_What are you waiting for?_

I loved him so much. There was no moving past it. Old James and new James meshed through the song, and he was the same person, flaws and perfections and all. And I was in love with every bit.

I just wanted to be happy. That was all I wanted. How did I lose that? How did I manage to mess that up?

“Where did you get that?”

I jolted up, shutting off the stereo, the voice striking me like I’d been slapped.

James was standing in my living room, looking down at me shuddering on the sofa. He didn’t look angry. Just confused.

“I’m sorry,” I said softly, my voice shaky in my throat.

We never said sorry to each other. So I was pushing it.

Then James looked even more devastated than I felt. “F-for what?”

“I shouldn’t have left…”

“What?” James yanked me up by the collar of my shirt. “Did you even listen to that all the way through?! I wanted you to leave! I wanted you to be happy!”

I withered, and the tears came fresh. “But… I’m not.” I was ashamed.

James pulled me to him, and I wrapped my arms around his thin frame.

“I’m sorry I was gone so long,” he said.

It had so many different connotations that I couldn’t stop the sobs racking my body.

I remembered why we didn’t apologize. Too much emotional investment.

“What the hell happened, Kendall?”

He ran his hands up and down my back, trying his best to comfort me, burying his nose in my hair. But I didn’t need comfort. I was hurting, yes, but I didn’t need to be comforted. I just needed him.

I kissed him, and it was sloppy and kind of soggy because I still had tears drying to my face, but he kissed back like he was trying to taste my soul. I leaned into him. All the strength I had was shattered, and I could barely stand. I wanted to feel every bit of him, know every nook and cranny of his body, mind, and soul, because it was James, inside and out. James on heroin was still James. James on ecstasy was still James. It was all him, and that would never change. Damn what Logan thought. Damn them all. I needed him and he needed me so what was the fucking problem?

Love kind of makes you stupid. I don’t think anyone really ever learns that lesson.

His lips moved to my jaw, kissing a perfect little line up to my ear. I let out a shuddery breath as he slipped down my neck, his hands moving gently to the hem of my shirt and pulling it upwards. We only broke contact for a moment, to pull the thing over my head, and then his lips were on mine again, a groan playing in my throat.

This was different than all those other times. I knew it from the beginning. He was gentle, barely grazing my skin with his hands, like maybe he would burn me. And he was so present. Both of us were so present for the situation. It was an ultimate clarity. I grabbed him by his belt and pulled him in closer, and he let me.

He let me.

But then he pulled away pushing his hand into mine and pulling it up to his lips, kissing each knuckle and never taking his eyes off me. I stared, infatuated, enchanted by those ever-changing eyes of his, almost hidden beneath the long fan of dark lashes. And then he was pulling me back to my bedroom, and I was following like an obedient little dog. (Gustavo would be proud.) When we reached the doorway, he kissed me again, and I felt like he was filling my lungs with his air, his essence, when I’d felt suffocated all those other times.

In that moment, I didn’t care about Logan or Guitar Dude or drugs or anything. Just James. I was completely lost in him. Minutes turned to eternities.

I stumbled onto my bed with him on top of me, his hands seemingly everywhere, his hair a curtain around our faces, like only I was allowed to see the gaze he was giving me. And it was so different, that half-lidded, admiring gaze. It had no other implications, no lies. It was plainly him.

I yanked the Henley over his head and threw it to the side, trying to press my skin to his. He was so warm and perfect. As he mouthed at my throat, making my back arch, I started to wonder who exactly I was without him. How I’d gone on without him for so long. How I could be so miserable until I was in his presence. How I missed him. How I needed him. How I didn’t feel so fucked up when he was with me. And as he gave a breathy laugh at my moans, I thought, hey, that might have been what love felt like.

He was making slow work of unbuckling my belt and sliding my jeans down my legs, and I lay flat, watching him with adoration and impatience. I didn’t know if he loved me back. I really didn’t. But I figured I didn’t have much else going for me at the time. What was a little love going to do?

A lot. It was going to do a lot. But I decided to be selfish for once.

He kissed down my thigh to the inside of my knee, smiling against the skin when I knocked it playfully against his head.

“Patience is a virtue,” he murmured.

“One you never followed,” I retorted.

“This is true,” James replied, sliding back up my form and kissing me hard again while he fiddled with his own belt buckle, making sure to brush against me in the most agonizingly wonderful way.

His calloused hand slipped down my chest, over my stomach, following the trail with his lips and my eyes rolled back in my head, half-whining his name.

I heard the crack of thunder across the sky when he slipped my boxers down my legs and took me in his mouth, and I gasped, both it and him taking me by surprise. His touch was so much stronger than any other time, even though he wasn’t bruising me. Because before - slow, fast, hard, soft - it didn’t mean anything. This meant everything. He was everything. He pulled off of me with an audible pop and grinned at me with swollen lips, and I could have gotten off right then and there, but I preferred to savor him.

“Do you—“ James grunted against my cheek, placing another gentle kiss to my ear, and I absently reached toward the nightstand. James got out what he needed, popping the cap on the lubricant and kicking off his own boxers.

“James….”

“Just relax,” he said, straddling me and squeezing some of the lube onto his palm and slipping it over his dick and then mine. Fuck. I was already close. I didn’t even realize how close I was until he was sliding his fingers inside me. I made this weird strangled sound that I’d never heard my throat make before, my hips lifting off the bed, because, yeah, it hurt, but James had long fingers, and they were agile.

I’ve bottomed before. Don’t get me wrong. I’m up to trying new things. But I typically take the lead in things like that, so I was a bit… well, it’d been awhile. Because as good as it felt, it still hurt like hell.

He laughed again as he scissored his fingers, stretching me. “I told you to relax.”

After he’d worked me into a pretty good withering pile of goo, he placed his lips against the side of my mouth, whispering words that, in my haze, I couldn’t quite catch. And he slid inside me.

Pain bloomed as soon as he was sheathed, and I curled, hissing in pain, my fingers scrambling at the sheets, tears pricking the corners of my eyes.

“Ah, fuck!”

“Shhh,” James murmured, rubbing absently at my thighs. “Relax. I’ve got you.”

When was I nervous? Why? After a few minutes, my heart stopped hammering in my chest and I felt the pain start to ebb away, nodding him the go-ahead. He began a slow, steady rhythm, stroking me in time to each movement, like I was an instrument. And he was always so talented with every instrument he set his hands to. He taught me how to play guitar, and he was magnificent at the piano and the drums, and singing… oh God, when he _sang_ ….

But he wasn’t singing. I sure as hell was though. He hit that spot within me, sending jolts of warmth through me over and over and over, and I was in ecstasy. And he was so painfully, wonderfully, slow, building me up as high as I could go, the pressure building in the very pit of my stomach. But I forced myself to look at him as we both neared our peaks. He was caught up in the activity, and he didn’t notice, but I gazed at him, taking in every detail, every pore of his skin, every bead of sweat, and saving it to my memory. My heart began fluttering and I let out a quick breath. He looked at me with his blackened eyes, then kissed me one more time, and I felt like maybe, just maybe, he really loved me back. Maybe the drugs really didn’t matter.

I came, a high-pitched sound in the back of my throat, and James was just behind me, stumbling over the edge and burying his head in my shoulder as his body jerked with orgasm. I put an arm around him, my hand on his back, and we carried each other through, our chests heaving against each other from the effort.

I don’t know why, but in that moment, as overwhelmed as I was with all those good feelings, I couldn’t help but feel like…

We were somehow saying goodbye.  



	22. Shut Your Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Future!Fic. Kendall returns to L.A. six years after Big Time Rush disbanded. James has been missing for years. Imagine how things change when James reappears in his life. And he needs help.

**Title:** Shut Your Eyes  
 **Authors:**  [](http://goten0040.livejournal.com/profile)[ **goten0040**](http://goten0040.livejournal.com/)   and [](http://garnetice.livejournal.com/profile)[ **garnetice**](http://garnetice.livejournal.com/)    
 **Chapter:** 22  
 **Rating:** M  
 **Ship(s):** Kendall/James, Carlos/Stephanie, Logan/Camille, maybe more.  
 **Summary:** Future!Fic. Kendall returns to L.A. six years after Big Time Rush disbanded. James has been missing for years. Imagine how things change when James reappears in his life. And he needs help.  
 **Previous Chapters:**[1](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/852.html#cutid1), [2](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1274.html), [3](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1511.html#cutid1), [4](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1554.html#cutid1), [5](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1996.html#cutid1), [6](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2234.html), [7](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2308.html#cutid1), [8](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2649.html), [9](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2935.html#cutid1), [10](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/3210.html), [11](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/3342.html#cutid1), [12](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/3705.html#cutid1), [13](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/3896.html#cutid1), [14](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/4461.html#cutid1), [15](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/4834.html#cutid1), [16](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/4876.html#cutid1), [17](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/5215.html), [18](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/5571.html#cutid1), [19](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/5870.html#cutid1), [20](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/5966.html#cutid1), [21](http://oursecretspace.livejournal.com/6166.html#cutid1)  
 

\---

I woke up with the sun warm on my chest, the whisper of James’s breath tickling my ear. I could feel the rhythm of his heart beneath his ribs; feel the jump of his pulse where my fingertips rested against his throat. He shifted, the comforter rustling over our bodies, golden light pooling across his skin.   
  
And I thought, this is what it means to be happy.   
  
It didn’t last, because moments like that; perfect snapshots of what life is supposed to be like? They never do. But for a few minutes, for the first time in the longest time, there wasn’t a knot of tension at the back of my neck. There wasn’t any sick wave of guilt or loneliness or doubt or self hatred threatening to swamp me. There was just me and James’s heartbeat, and the exhilaration of being alive.   
  
Then James’s phone vibrated, the buzz making my whole bedside table shake. I thought about reaching over, picking it up. But there was no point. I already knew who was calling.   
  
I waited until the vibrations subsided, fine tremors like an earthquake building that made me grit my teeth, clench my fists into James’s side. It was _stupid_ to be jealous. More than stupid. Idiotic. Moronic, even. It was also completely involuntary.   
  
Joseph was right. Just because we fucked, it probably wasn’t going to magically make me special in James’s eyes. It wouldn’t actually _fix_ anything at all. James wasn’t a princess locked up in a tower, and it would take more than an orgasm to wake him up. The kind of dragons he dealt with weren’t creatures I could slay.   
  
It was ridiculous that I’d even allowed myself a minute of thinking I could. I wasn’t a teenage girl. I knew better than to think sex was like some kind of fairytale kiss, a panacea to all of my fucked up problems.   
  
James shifted, groaned, eyes sleepily opening.   
  
“Hey,” he croaked, the sound raw, beautiful. He was so fucking beautiful.   
  
“Your phone rang,” I said, my tone a little icy. It probably wasn’t the best post-sex greeting.  
  
Although I was sure I’d said something last night, in between rounds. Just thinking about it made my dick twitch.   
  
“You didn’t- pick up?” He asked, voice neutral, controlled. The way it got when an interviewer threw out a really uncomfortable question. I rolled my eyes.   
  
“No.”  
  
"Why not?"  
  
“It was Joseph.”   
  
My voice didn’t just crack when I said his name. It shattered.  
  
I needed so badly to know if James had ever slept with him, but at the same time, I figured Is _really_ didn’t make me special. If anything, I figured it lessened my importance to him a little. I was suddenly one more guy in- well, not exactly a tiny pool.   
  
“The guy’s not my biggest fan,” I said.  
  
James began to say something, but his words were lost over the sudden, violent buzz of his phone a second time. Casting me a quick, dark look, he picked up.   
  
“I can’t talk right now. No, I-“ James glanced at me, eyes narrowed. I made a hand gesture that I supposed could be interpreted as _go on_.   
  
“It’s not a good time.”  
  
He paused, listening, head tilting to the side. I wanted to nip at the skin on his neck, wanted to pin him to the bed and make him forget all about the guy on the other line. Instead I clutched the sheets in one hand and waited.   
  
“Oh, I- really? _Again_? Yeah. I got it. _Super_ ,” James muttered, jabbing at the end button and slamming the phone back down on the nightstand.   
  
He turned to me.   
  
“Problem?”  
  
“Joseph. Is in jail,” James said, looking somewhere between annoyed and embarrassed. He clambered out of bed, shoving the comforter on top of me so that for a few seconds I was lost in a downy white igloo. By the time I clawed my way out of it, he was already pulling up his jeans, designer blue-indigo denim hiding his too-skinny legs from view.   
  
I watched as he fumbled with the zipper, the button, the belt, fascinated by the pale skin of his knee peeking out from a factory-made rip.   
  
“Do you need help?”  
  
The last thing I wanted to do was help bail that jerkoff out of jail.   
  
“No. I just- I’m going to get him out.”  
  
“How, exactly?”  
  
His eyes narrowed, but I could tell from the shift of his body that he wasn’t sure.   
  
“I’m coming,” I decided, jumping out of bed, not bothered by the fact that I was very, very naked. James had seen every part of me now. I had very little left to hide.   
  
“That’s not- It’s a bad idea.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“You don’t want your name tangled up in this. Also, he kind of hates you.”  
  
I shrugged, because, yeah. Knew that.   
  
“Fortunately the feeling’s mutual. Wait-“ I thought it couldn’t hurt to pry, sniff out if James was observant enough to figure out that Joseph and I had had a conversation or two of our own. “Why does he hate me again?”  
  
“Um. His words? You’re an arrogant prick.”  
  
James flashed me a grin, tongue between his teeth while he grabbed for a discarded t-shirt that most certainly did not belong to him. He said casually, “Why do you hate him? He’s- not a bad person.”   
  
I grabbed a pair of boxers from my dresser, thinking about the correct way to respond. While I took my time, James went into the bathroom. I could hear him rustling around, brushing his teeth.   
  
I’d bought him up a toothbrush after the first night he slept over, but he was probably using mine. I didn’t care; it wasn’t like we weren’t going to pick up the same germs playing tonsil hockey or more. But Logan would have had a whole slew of things to say about how unsanitary that was.   
  
Logan was probably going back to Florida. I tried not to feel guilty about that.   
  
“I never said he was.”  
  
“Yeah. I can see you judging him from here,” James said, muffled voice echoing out of the bathroom.   
  
“I don’t like him.”  
  
“He doesn’t like you,” James countered.   
  
“So you’ve said.”  
  
I listened to James brush, spit, rinse. A clean looking pair of jeans was crumpled in one corner of the room, and I was pretty sure there was a t-shirt that didn’t smell too funky underneath the bed. I was probably too old to be shirking laundry duty, but whatever. The search was on.   
  
“Look, Joseph- he’s. He’s been there for me, okay?”  
  
“In bed?” I snorted, knowing it was the most immature response I could possibly have gone with.   
  
“Dude, what is your malfunction? I never asked for the backlist of _your_ gay lovers.”  
  
“Right, so you did sleep with him.”  
  
I nodded to myself, feeling my lips twist into a sardonic smile. Nothing like being right to really ruin my day.   
  
“Does it _matter_?”  
  
“I don’t know, okay? I don’t fucking know.”  
  
I didn’t know how to give voice to what it was about Joseph that bothered me so much, how to say that I couldn’t stand the fact that they shared an intimacy that had nothing to do with simple sex.   
  
James’s head popped out of the bathroom, disembodied from the neck on by the doorframe. His eyes were blank, almost reptilian when he said, “Okay. Fine. Yeah, I’ve slept with him.”  
  
Something hot, sharp, possessive sliced through my insides. I didn’t like hearing that out loud at all, no matter what I’d suspected.   
  
My head was halfway in and halfway out of my shirt when I ventured, ““Uh. Recently?”  
  
I pulled the shirt the rest of the way on. James’s lips pressed together, eyes following the hemline.   
  
“Oh, yeah. Yesterday, actually. Banged him like a _drum_.”  
  
He disappeared back into the bathroom and I heard the sink faucet turn. I stared at the space where his head had been, mouth gaping open. Then, abruptly, James’s head reappeared and he said, “You actually _believed_ that.”  
  
>My mouth snapped shut.   
  
“What?”  
  
James rolled his eyes.   
  
“Joseph and I haven’t been together in- a long time. Don’t let it go to your head.”  
  
Then he slammed the bathroom door shut. I tried to figure out what that was supposed to mean.   
  
Because he certainly couldn’t have been implying that it had anything to do with me.   
  
Could he? 

\---

  
No matter how hard I argued, James refused to let me accompany him down to the police station. When I asked what Joseph was in for, he looked at me like I was pretty much the biggest idiot to have ever been idiotic and said-  
  
“Possession of a controlled dangerous substance. Cocaine.”  
  
He arched an eyebrow like, what else?   
  
I tried to look like that was No Big Deal, like I was used to bailing crackheads out of the slammer every weekend. James did not look even mildly impressed.   
  
“I’ll take care of it.”  
  
“But-“  
  
“Dude, what if someone sees you? The media would love that.”  
  
“Media- what? I’m a hockey player, not a superstar. No one will notice.”  
  
“This is Hollywood. Everyone knows everybody’s business. You know that.”  
  
James frowned at me, admonishing, like I’d forgotten one of the cardinal rules I needed to follow to survive. Thing is, I knew he was right. I’d been so freaked out about kissing him in public because no matter how small time I was, there was always a chance that someone would recognize me. All it took was one camera phone and a little bit of nosy determination to cast some serious bad light on my character.   
  
“Fine,” I said, a little sullen. I let him raid my coffee machine for some Starbuck’s home brew, which he sucked down like it was the water of life.   
  
Before he left, I fisted a hand in his shirt and pulled him in for a kiss. Because no matter how pissed and jealous and twisted I felt inside, I wanted him. It was the only thing I knew.   
  
Except he, apparently, did not share the sentiment. He pulled away.   
  
“This. Was a mistake,” James said, and my lungs tightened. My fingers un-bunched from the fabric of his shirt, which, from the familiar logo and my surname stamped on the back was very definitely mine.   
  
I tried to swallow, to smile, and I said, “Yeah. You’re right.”   
  
He blinked.  
  
“-say what now?”   
  
“I said you’re right.”   
  
He narrowed his eyes.   
  
“Is this a trick?”   
  
“No trick. It was fun, but-“ I shrugged, trying to look like the epitome of _fine_.   
  
“Kendall-“  
  
“You should. Go,” I said, waving towards the door. After a second, he left.   
  
And I honestly didn’t know if I would ever see him again.   
 

\---

  
Two days later, Katie showed up at my door.   
  
“Did we have plans?”  
  
“Mom called.” She tapped her foot against the entryway and frowned. “Apparently you’re not capable of taking care of your own problems.”  
  
I laughed, sharp and humorless.   
  
“Let’s make this quick,” Katie continued, throwing herself on my couch in a move that was the complete opposite of prim. Which seemed to be what she was going for, in her very girly ruffled dress and kitten heels. She said, “I have a date.”  
  
“With your boyfriend?”   
  
“Actually, I’m taking my boss out on the town. He’s like fifty something. I think he expects to get laid.”  
  
I blinked. Then I played back what she’d just said in my mind.   
  
Then I asked, “So why are you here?”  
  
“Everyone seems to think you have a problem. And it starts with the letter J. Tell me about it.”  
  
“You heard?” I cocked an eyebrow. “Let me guess. Did it come up during your intervention meeting?”  
  
“It wasn’t like that.”  
  
“Really? Because it sounded exactly like-“  
  
“Shut up and _talk_.”  
  
“That doesn’t make any sense-“  
  
“ _Kendall_.”  
  
“What do you want me to say?”  
  
“I don’t want you to say anything. Logan left on a redeye last night. I guess you scared him away, just like you wanted,” she told me, and she sounded casual, not chastising in the least; but it didn’t make my guilt any easier to handle. She ordered, “Tell me about James.”  
  
I shoved a hand through my hair, sighing. Katie was turning into such a capable, beautiful woman. But she still kind of terrified me. And I cared too much about her to lie to her face when I knew she’d see through it.   
  
I’d always been a sucker for my little sister, I guess.   
  
“I think- I think I might…possibly- love him.”  
  
Katie rolled her eyes.   
  
“You just got that?”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“You’ve only ever run yourself ragged for two things. Hockey and James. The second you told me you found him, I figured it was only a matter of time before you figured out you wanted in his pants.”  
  
“But- he’s messed up. He’s so messed up, and I don’t know how to fix him.”   
  
Her face softened.   
  
“You care too much, big brother. You always have. I’m going to let you in on a secret. You don’t have to do everything on your own. The reason people make friends is so they have someone to catch them when they fall.”  
  
I ignored the fact that what she was saying was right out of the trite cliché rulebook and said, “You don’t have friends.”  
  
“I never fall. But, you know, if I were to ever royally fuck up my life, I’ve got you and mom. And unlike you, I know its okay to ask for help.”  
  
I was pretty sure I’d heard this secret before. I hadn’t liked it then and I certainly didn’t like hearing it now. I wanted to be the guy I always had been. I wanted to be the person who put things back together again.   
  
“No one expects you to _fix_ James, by the way. He’s a human being, Kendall, not a cabinet. You can’t just bang a hammer around and see what happens. This kind of shit, it takes time.”  
  
I glanced at the clock on the microwave for lack of something better to do. I needed to think about what she said; about what everyone kept saying to me.   
  
Maybe it was time I started listening.   
  
But then, it wasn’t like James was coming back anyway. I’d been waiting two days. Two days, with no news whatsoever. It was killing me.   
  
“I thought you had a date.”  
  
“It’s okay. It takes him a while to get in the mood. The pills are slow working.”  
  
“Aw, ugh, Katie.”  
  
“What? It’s called honesty. You should try it some time. Maybe you wouldn’t be in this mess.”  
  
I flipped her off. She grinned.   
  
“Hey. When are you going to go back to the team?”  
  
“I don’t know. Things have gotten complicated.”  
  
“Why? Because you’re scared?”  
  
“Yeah,” I admitted, “I guess I am.”   
  
“So? You’re Kendall Knight. Since when do you give up?”  
  
“I’m not giving up,” I said, bristling at the thought, because it had honestly never even crossed my mind. As much as I hated the way I didn’t quite fit among my teammates, I didn’t want to _quit_. I just didn’t want to go back until I had my head together.   
  
“Hmmm.” Katie pursed her lips and said, “Right, come on.”   
  
“Come where?”  
  
“You’re going to Carlos’s.”  
  
Oh, hell no.   
  
“I’d rather not.”  
  
She gave me a look and said, “The amount I care is tremendous.”  
  
“But- you have a date.”  
  
“I’m not coming. Camille’s downstairs. She’ll drive.”  
  
“Do you want me to die? Is that what this is about?” I squeaked, more adamant than ever that I was not going to Carlos’s house. The ride home from Disneyland had been more traumatizing than the ride there. When Camille had dropped me off, I’d made a vow never to step foot into her sweet little Audi ever again.   
  
“I don’t follow.”  
  
“Have you ever been in a car with Camille?”  
  
“No?”  
  
“Lucky you,” I muttered.   
  
“She can’t be that bad.”  
  
“Care to cancel your date and find out?”  
  
“No. I haven’t gotten laid in a week.”   
  
“ _Katie_!”  
  
She shrugged and said, “Sorry. God, I thought the truth was considered a virtue around these parts.”  
 

\---  
 

Camille greeted me with a frosty smile and enough barely restrained hostility that I was pretty sure she’d rigged the car to take a nosedive off one of California’s many piers with me still strapped inside. But apparently that was not the plan.

 

The plan was to see if we could both go out in a fiery explosion.   
  
“ _Pox_ ridden _cock_ slut!”   
  
Swerve.   
  
“F _uck_ face.”  
  
More gas.   
  
“Learn how to drive you _douche waffle_!”  
  
I stared at the beaten up Chevy we were passing, a wide eyed girl at the helm and a big yellow sticker on the bumper declaring that-  
  
“She’s a student driver,” I gasped, “Maybe you could- um. Turn down the rage?”  
  
Camille ignored me in favor of hollering at a man who looked upwards of ninety that he was a-  
  
“Chlamydia infested dirty _cunt!_ ”  
  
“ _Camille_!”  
  
A daring convertible attempted to cut us off and we narrowly avoided becoming a pancake.   
  
“Okay, you can suck my cock,” she yelled out the window.   
  
“Camille, god, um, could you _slow down_?”  
  
“Motherfuc-“ Camille swerved hard into the shoulder, pushing the gear into park. Next thing I knew she was punching my arm.   
  
She punched _really hard_. All that fake ninja training had taught her well.   
  
“Jesus fuck, stop!” I yelped, cringing into the passenger side door like maybe I could escape the confines of my seatbelt and run screaming down the freeway.   
  
“It’s.”  
  
Punch.   
  
“Your.”   
  
Punch.   
  
“Fault.”   
  
Punch.   
  
“He.”  
  
Punch.  
  
“Left.”  
  
Double punch.   
  
“ _Again_!”   
  
She folded her arms over the steering wheel, long hair a curtain shielding her face.   
  
“Why can’t you just- stop being you?”  
  
I heard her sigh, thin shoulders bobbing with the movement.   
  
“Camille, I- um. I didn’t mean to-“  
  
“Make him leave? Make him flee across the country to his superhot girlfriend?”  
  
“That,” I acknowledged. “I’m sorry. But I didn’t think he was going to listen-“   
  
“ _Please_. Logan always listens to you. Your opinion means a thousand times more to him than, oh, I don’t know. Mine.”  
  
“We’re not sixteen anymore. I didn’t know he still…”  
  
“Hero worshipped you enough to get out of dodge when you asked him to?”  
  
I leaned my back against the headrest, aware of the way Camille’s dark eyes were boring into the side of my face, aware of the cars whizzing down the freeway at some ninety miles an hour. Aware that I was itching to hear James’s voice.   
  
Finally, I snarled, “You know what? Don’t pin this all on me. He would’ve stayed if _you_ asked him to.”  
  
“He has a girlfr-“  
  
“So? You’re the only person he’s cared about practically since the day we first stepped foot in the Palmwoods. But it took him a while to figure out what he wanted, and now he thinks you- I don’t even know. Can you just take me back to my place?”  
  
“He thinks I what?”  
  
“You’re famous. A TV star. Pretty,” I admitted, and this part of me knew that she’d hooked up with James, once, a long time ago. It didn’t burn me the way it did every time Joseph’s name popped into my head; but there was this part of me that resented Camille. She’d kissed James. Why wasn’t the idea of saving him consuming _her_? “He’s scared that you don’t want him.”  
  
I slunk down low in my seat, crossing my arms and refusing to say anything else until Camille pulled the car out of park and dove straight back into the insane LA traffic. She still screamed obscenities out the window the rest of the way, but her heart didn’t seem to be in it.

\---

  
Stephanie and Carlos were not very good at subtle. Fortunately for me, they also didn’t like to pry. Much.   
  
I sat through about twenty minutes of awkward, somewhat frigid small talk with Carlos and Camille before Carlos declared that he had to check the barbecue. Camille followed at his heels, obviously desperate to escape anywhere that I was.   
  
I decided that I needed to escape into the kitchen before they came back. Stephanie was there under the guise of making cookies while Carlos grilled us up some burgers, but her bowl of half finished dough sat untended on the counter. She was bent over a directorial magazine, reading about the newest filmmaking technology from some country I hadn’t even heard of.   
  
“Hard at work?”  
  
She grinned.   
  
“Don’t tell on me.”  
  
“’Kay. But I get first pick of the cookies.”  
  
“Mm. Hey, is that a hickey?”   
  
My hand flew to my neck.   
  
“No! What? No!” I panicked and said, “Has it been so long since Carlos has given you one that you’ve forgotten what they look like?”  
  
Instead of being insulted, Stephanie gave me a secretive smile and tugged at the collar of her blouse. A red purple mark like a rose petal rested underneath her collarbone.   
  
“Don’t you worry yourself about my sex life, sweetie. I know _exactly_ what a hickey looks like.”  
  
I made a face. Yeah. I’d sort of asked for that. But visions of Carlos and sex were dancing around in my head now and ugh, talk about karmic justice.   
  
“I think pregnancy is addling your brain.”  
  
Stephanie flung cookie dough at my face in response.   
  
“You’re always cooking,” I told her, avoiding the projectile. “Does Carlos keep you chained up here in the kitchen? That’s a little chauvinist.”  
  
“I’m always hungry,” she replied with a grin. “The baby’s going to eat me out of house and home.”  
  
“Somehow I doubt that.” I glanced pointedly at their chandelier, just barely visible through the entryway.   
  
Stephanie laughed and said, “So. I heard you scared Logan into scurrying across the country.”  
  
“I- yeah.”   
  
I tried my best to look supremely unbothered by the fact. Logan was in Florida and out of my hair. I’d finally be able to function without him looking over my shoulder. It was what I wanted, just like Katie said. But I didn’t feel good about what I’d said to him. I didn’t feel good about anything, really.   
  
Maybe Stephanie saw that. She said, “Things always get better, Kendall. Even if it feels like they never will.”  
  
“I don’t know if he’s going to forgive me,” I told her, surprised at the words tumbling from my mouth because I hadn’t really known that I was thinking them. “I don’t know if I actually want him to. He cares so much, and-“   
  
“You don’t feel like you deserve it.”  
  
I glanced at her, sharp, surprised. She smiled a little impishly and tilted her head.   
  
“You’re not some big mystery, Knight. Since the day I met you, you’ve always been fantastic at fighting for your friends. Not so much for yourself.”  
  
“I’m scared I’m going to let him down,” I whispered, and it was weird, because until that moment, I hadn’t completely understood that it really was the reason that I’d been so adamant about ignoring Logan’s advice. If I didn’t make an effort to please him, it wouldn’t surprise anyone when I failed to do so. If he didn’t think I was great, he wouldn’t be surprised when I didn’t do great things.   
  
I was only human, and the weight of Logan’s expectations had been suffocating.   
  
“Then don’t.” Stephanie shrugged.   
  
“It’s not that easy. He wants me to leave James alone.”  
  
“I don’t think so.”  
  
“He told me so.”  
  
“Yeah, but-“ She paused and bit her lip. Carefully, she said, “I think Logan wants, or- wanted, to help you. I don’t think he minds that you’re spending time with James so much as that you’re not talking to him about it. Or anyone, really. I don’t know if you know this, Kendall, but you’ve got a good game face. It’s probably hard for him to tell if you’re interested in what’s happened to James because you’re being a good friend or if it’s because you’re trying to support some secret addiction to crack.”  
  
“I don’t want anything to do with the drugs. I don’t even want James to have anything to do with the drugs.”  
  
“Really? Because it doesn’t sound like you believe that.”  
  
“I do,” I said quietly, understanding what she was getting at.   
  
I’d been hanging around James while he was high. I’d seen the negative consequences of what he was doing; felt the fear his skinniness inspired in me and shivered when I stood in the ruins of his life. But at the same time, I was treating it like it was only a peripheral problem. Like it didn’t actually change who James was to me.   
  
It was obvious that came across in my voice, in my attitude, in the way my body language changed when I talked about him, and I couldn’t help it. But what Stephanie was asking me to do? I could barely face the facts myself. How was I supposed to get James to come around?   
  
She sighed and said, “Never mind. I know that you’re not stupid enough to go down the same path James has.”   
  
“I thought you just said I’m hard to read.”  
  
“I said you’ve got a good game face. To people like Logan and Carlos, maybe you are hard to figure out. But I’m a director. I’m used to trying to get inside of other people’s heads. Want to know what else I’ve figured out?”  
  
“Shoot.”  
  
“That hickey’s from James, isn’t it?”  
  
I froze.   
  
Stephanie held up her hands and said, “Hey, hey. No judging here. Promise.”  
  
I frowned at her, skeptical. I could hear my blood pounding in my ears, but the universe didn’t seem to be imploding, so there was that.   
  
“You’re not going to tell me that this-” I waved a hand over my neck and knew that my stupid ears were turning _stupidly_ red. “Makes hanging around James an even worse idea?”  
  
“Nope.”  
  
>“It doesn’t even matter. James wants nothing to do with me,” I admitted, “He said it was a _mistake._ Which makes sense. It’s not like I have anything to offer. I can’t do anything for him. Katie said that no one expects me to fix James, but that’s not true. If I want to- be with him-“  
  
I was probably the color of a cherry at that exact minute. Stephanie kind of looked like she wanted to coo and pat me on the cheek.   
  
“-then I can’t just tolerate the way he lives. And he knows that. So he just pushed me away. He doesn’t want my help, and I can’t make him better unless he asks for it.”  
  
“Kendall, if you want him, don’t let him go. Stop waiting for him to step up.”  
  
I stared at the fridge. It was plastered with pictures; of the Garcias, of Stephanie’s friends and family. But mostly of us. Me and James and Carlos and Logan.   
  
It was like an anthropological study of how many different ways we could smile. Some of the pictures were taken so long ago that I didn’t even remember what had gotten us smiling in the first place. There was one in the corner where we looked no older than seven or eight. James and I were hanging upside down from a tire swing, Logan and Carlos perched in the branches of the tree that held it aloft.   
  
James as a child was dead set on pleasing his mother. He’d lived in the shadows of her expectations for his entire life. It was only ever when he hung out with the three of us that he seemed to really come out of his shell. The more time we spent together, the more he became this brilliant, gorgeous boy who breathed life and laughter and so much love it was hard to bear.   
  
I wanted to clutch at my chest, claw the love that I felt for him out of my heart, because I was scared, terrified that I’d never find that boy again. That I’d never see more of him than the glimpses I caught when he wasn’t too high or too low.   
  
“What if I can’t help?”  
  
“Is that what you’re worried about? Have you even tried to _broach the subject_? If there’s anyone in the entire world that James will listen to, it’s going to be you.”  
  
“And if he doesn’t?”  
  
Because I was very, very sure that James wasn’t going to listen to a single word I said, no matter what kind of quiet, sunlit mornings we shared.   
  
Stephanie sighed.   
  
“You and James have both always had too much _pride_. It stops you from doing the sensible thing. James might not immediately take you seriously, but I think he will. In time. Half the fun of being lost is discovering who’s going to come find you. I think James has been waiting for you to come back for a long time, whether he knows it or not.”  
  
“I guess…”  
  
“Grow a pair, Knight.”  
  
I tossed the softened dough ball at her head. Which lead to her pouring a bag of flour over mine. I ended up waging a sugar assault from behind the island, which was not exactly the best strategic stronghold, seeing as she was standing next to fully stocked cabinets.   
  
As far as food fights go, the one between Stephanie and I was pretty tame. But it didn’t matter that we were being gentle; conscientious of the baby. It was still _fun_. By the time Camille and Carlos came in to see what all the ruckus was about, the two of us were covered in white, laughing.   
 

\---

  
I didn’t see James again until the end of the week. I’d caved and tried calling him only to get a machine telling me that his voicemail-box was full.   
  
He was waiting outside my apartment in the early evening, watching the traffic speed past in a blur of red, white, and yellow; taillights bleeding color. He had a cigarette resting idly in one hand, a pillar of ash building against white paper. He didn’t look very interested in smoking it.   
  
I was coming back from my mom’s, a plastic bag full of vegetables that she’d pushed on me clutched in one arm. I nearly dropped it when I saw him.   
  
“Uh. Hi?”  
  
“Hey,” he pushed off the side of my building, walking towards me.   
  
“How, um. How’s Joseph?” I winced as I said it, inherently feeling like I was doing something wrong the second I mentioned his name.  
  
“Fine. Still a douchebag.” James cocked an eyebrow. It looked like a challenge.   
  
“But you got him out?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
I watched him tap the ash off of his cigarette and bring it to his lips.   
  
“Good. It’s been. Um. I didn’t know if I was going to hear from you again.”  
  
James got closer and closer still. We were standing barely a foot apart when he leaned in and kissed me; trapping me between his mouth and the burning embers of the cigarette resting lightly behind my neck. When he pulled back, there was barely an inch separating us; the smoke that tainted our shared breath hovering in the void.   
  
“Me either.”  
  
“I had something that I- I want to tell you something.”  
  
He tilted his head, a smile curving his lips. I couldn’t tell if he was high. If there was anything behind his eyes other than the little boy who used to pound me at Guitar Hero.   
  
“I wanted to say that-“ I bit my lip, because I’d been toying with the idea ever since my conversation with Stephanie. This was a big thing, but like most decisions, I was making it half-assed. “I extended my leave with the Wild. I’m taking the year.”  
  
James withdrew in a snap, like the cigarette had burned him.   
  
“Why would you do that?”  
  
“I’m being there. For you. It’s what friends do. And _don’t_ say we’re not friends, because it’s a lie, James.”  
  
“I didn’t ask you to put your life on hold. I haven’t asked you for _anything_.”  
  
“I know. I can’t just leave LA knowing that you’re all alone, and-“  
  
“I’m _not_ alone. I have Danika and Zack and-“  
  
“Joseph?” I snorted. “I’m sure you get a whole hell of a lot of support and- _comfort_ from him.”  
  
“Is that what this is? You think I’m a slut? You think you have to- what? Protect me from myself?”  
  
This conversation was moving to familiar waters.   
  
“I didn’t say that.”  
  
“You might as well have. You don’t think I see the way you look at me? Like- I’m infected?” He practically screamed, his voice raw at the edges.   
  
“James-“  
  
“You think I sell myself for drugs. I’ve never had sex with anyone I didn’t want to, okay?”  
  
“And how many people did you _want_ to have sex with?” I asked without meaning to.   
  
“Fuck you.”  
  
“Yeah, I think we were just talking about that.”   
  
“You’re not funny.” He glared at me. “You’re just a self centered dick. I don’t know why I even bothered coming back.”  
  
James turned around and began to walk away. Shit.   
  
That was not what I’d meant to do.   
  
I grabbed for his arm, the shift of muscle and sinew beneath my fingers.   
  
“James, James-“  
  
“Let me go, Kendall.”  
  
“No, I-“ I batted at his hand as he tried to pull my fingers away, “Stop. Stop fighting me.”  
  
“Why? Why should I stop?” James shoved me, and I tripped off the curb, biting my tongue hard and nearly stumbling into traffic. It was only years and years of learning to keep my balance on the ice that kept me from falling face first in front of a Beamer.   
  
My head would have been crushed at eighty miles per an hour. James didn’t even try to catch me.   
  
I wasn’t sure if it was because he knew I had great reflexes or if it was because a part of him wanted me out of his life, no matter how it happened.   
  
“Why should I do anything for you?” He kept yelling, “You’re just going to _leave_.”  
  
Something in me snapped.   
  
“No, I’m _not_. All I fucking want is you,” I yelled, blood in my mouth tasting of coopery metal and something sweet, like the orange candy my grandpa used to give me when I was nine years old. The sky was a dark blanket falling around us, the color of crushed purple velvet where streetlights softened the black. But even if the night had been abyssal, I would have been able to see James’s eyes, the fire and the radiance that had never really left him. “You’re all I think about, all the time, and I can’t- I _won’t_ leave you this time. I promise.”

  
Every single word I said was true. He was the only person in this hellhole that I wanted, the only person on this crowded street that I could even see, his silhouette a halo of taillights and stars.   
  
“Please,” I whispered, stepping back onto the curb and taking his face in my hands. “I don’t care if you want to get high or burn down this city or if- I don’t know, if you decided you wanted to bone my entire team. I just want _you_.”   
  
In the distance, a car honked, the horn bearing down on us like the rumble-roar of on oncoming tornado. Half a block down a family was bickering about which restaurant to choose for the night, light and laughter in their voices, the brilliance of happiness a virtual aura surrounding them. A helicopter growled overhead, broadcasting the traffic reports to most of the Greater Los Angeles area.   
  
And I barely noticed any of it. I could only focus on James; on the shadows of his face and the way he made my heart feel like it was bleeding, color and sound like trailing neon lights, like city traffic frozen in a snapshot.  
  
“You _can’t_ promise me things like that.”  
  
“I’m not leaving,” I said again, soft.   
  
He tried to make a joke out of it. He shifted from foot to foot and attempted a smile. “Don’t mock my abandonment issues.”  
  
“I’m not. I know what it’s like to be left, okay?”  
  
I pulled his face close to mine and kissed him, hard, bruising. I didn’t care when our teeth clicked, and I didn’t care when he bit my tongue. His hands shoved at my hips, but after a beat, it turned to fumbling with the zipper of my jeans right there on the street. It was hard and fierce and there were probably camera snapping tourists everywhere. For the first time I didn’t care. Not even a little bit.   
  
We managed to stumble our way into my apartment building, running into every wall and corner the place had.   
  
“You taste like blood,” he mumbled, but he didn’t stop his assault on my mouth. In that moment, I lived for it; his lips and his tongue and the scrape of his stubble against my chin.   
  
We fumbled our way just inside the door of my place, and it was like that night after we visited his ramshackle theater, but this time James didn’t bother dropping to his knees. He turned me in place so that I was facing the wall. My belt was already hanging half out of the loops and James shoved my jeans down until they rested somewhere around my calves. There was nothing for a beat, just the sound of him rustling around with something I couldn’t see. I shed my shirt like snakeskin, feeling _want_ thrum in my bones.   
  
The first time I’d done this, the very first time, it had hurt like a bitch. I’d walked around the next day feeling like I was bruised on the inside, a sharp, stinging pain making me grit my teeth every time I shifted the wrong way. Chris had made it good, had made it worth it, but- I was so glad I had that _first_ long out of the way.   
  
Seconds later, James was behind me again. I could feel the warm press of his stomach against my spine. The heavy heat of his cum slick cock rested against my ass. I leaned into it, already sick of the foreplay.   
  
His fingers trailed up and down my ribcage, rhythmic, like he was counting the shift of bone beneath my skin. I could feel his breath tickle the back of my neck, his lips graze the skin where my throat intersected my shoulder. His other hand was moving too, trailing up the side of my jaw, into my hair, fingertips pinpricks of heat on my scalp. He tugged back a little, exposing my jugular so that he could suck, bite, mark.   
  
James wasn’t interested in being gentle this time, and that was okay. Neither was I.   
  
I shifted, bracing my other arm against the wall; tangling one of my feet behind his ankles so that he couldn’t move back, even if he wanted to. His body was fire against mine.   
  
James’s knuckles skidded against the skin of my cock as he traced the contour of my stomach. I hissed a breath, involuntarily trying to grind back against him, his heat and his hardness. He laughed, a shaky exhalation against my neck that made my hair stand on end.   
  
“Still so fucking impatient.”  
  
His fingers moved to my side and I tried to emphasize my point, pushing back again until he made this noise halfway between a gasp and a groan. His hand left, and I heard him spit and _fuck_ , that was going to _burn_ like the fires of hell for both of us but I didn’t even care. I listened to him spit once, twice more and craned my neck, trying to see when he wrapped his saliva-wet hand around his cock, the tip already nudging at my ass.   
  
He barely bothered stretching me; one cold finger nudged inside, followed by a second, a third. I rocked back into it, into the harsh scrape of his short nails, the jut of bone and soft skin. My dick twitched, wanting him, wanting to be touched, but I curled my fingers into the wall and waited.   
  
The head of James’s dick pushing inside of me hurt; the unfamiliar stretch of a new shape and the chafe of already drying skin. But we were both so fucking desperate that I didn’t fight it when he slammed the rest of the way in, hips snapping against mine. He bit into my shoulder, tongue assuaging most of the pain, but it was something to focus on, something to concentrate on for the first few violent thrusts. I grit my teeth, rutting back against him the second he got the angle right and lightning sparked in my veins, fingers to toes.   
  
One of James’s hands gripped my hip, holding me in place the same way I had him pinioned with my leg, neither of us able to move away; stuck like Newton’s Cradle, momentum and energy back and forth, endlessly crashing into each other. I could feel his mouth against my shoulder blade, tongue learning the shape of my marrow, the feel of my pulse and did what I could to grind back against him.   
  
“I’m impressed with your multi-tasking but just _fuck me_. Harder,” I grunted, pushing off against the wall, back against his body so that I could feel him filling every inch of me. All of it scorching; from the ridge of the head to the vein on the underside all the way down to the hair curling at the base of his dick. All of it making me come apart; wanting more, faster, _please._   
  
James’s other hand crept up my sternum, my throat, like he was trying to measure the tempo of my breath by touch. Like the sound alone of every harsh exhalation each thrust forced from my lungs wasn’t enough. He fucked up into me again, again, still sucking on my skin, but more urgent now.   
  
His fingers brushed feather light against my jaw, dipping into my mouth, skimming over my eyelids. He pressed my eyes shut so that the world went dark. All I had left was the heat of his body, the scrape of his teeth against my shoulder and the feel of him rocking inside of me.  
  
When I came, it was to flashbulbs behind my eyelids and the shape of James’s name tumbling from my lips. I could feel him go tight behind me, fine tremors like a tuning fork taking hold of his body before he let go, shuddering against me. He rode it out, forehead resting against my sweat-slick shoulder.   
  
I wanted to collapse there, against my really, really uncomfortable wall, but I didn’t. I waited, shaking, James’s cock still a dull pulse inside of me. When he finally pulled out, cum dripping on the floor, I turned, a little wobbly. I yanked on the back of his neck, knocking our foreheads together.   
  
“I should-“ he began, but I shook my head, vehement.   
  
“You’re not going anywhere. Stop testing me. Stop trying to see if I’ll leave if you do something horrible, okay?”  
  
“Will you?”  
  
“I’d have to think about it- No. _Idiot_.”  
  
He smiled, tired and a little uncertain, but I shoved him towards my bedroom.   
  
“Go. We’re not done yet. I’ll meet you in there.”  
  
I walked into my bathroom, flicking on a light. My ass was sore, my stomach coated with my own cum. I was a mess. In every single way possible. I’d promised James I wouldn’t leave, but Stephanie was right. I couldn’t stick around to watch him kill himself either. I still had a future with the team. I had so much life left to live.   
  
So what the hell had I just done?   
  
I caught a glimpse of something in the mirror and turned, trying to see what it was. The skin from my shoulder blade to my shoulder was marked, blossoming with black-blue like a Rorschach test. The bruises weren’t in any kind of order and not a single one was the same size. I dug my fingertips into one, feeling the way it made me ache all the way to my toes, wanting to revisit the electric press of James against my hips, my cock.   
  
It kind of looked like a wing; one of those stupid tattoos people get to pretend they can fly. I didn’t appreciate the symbolism. Being with James never felt anything like taking to the sky, not since years back when we would sing together, when things were better, easier. Now our time together was more like being buried alive. The bruises, the ache; it was all just rubble, weighing me down. Thing is, I was long past the point of being able to dig my way back out.   
 

\---

 


	23. Shut Your Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Future!Fic. Kendall returns to L.A. six years after Big Time Rush disbanded. James has been missing for years. Imagine how things change when James reappears in his life. And he needs help.

**Title:** Shut Your Eyes  
 **Authors:**  [](http://goten0040.livejournal.com/profile)[ **goten0040**](http://goten0040.livejournal.com/)   and [](http://garnetice.livejournal.com/profile)[ **garnetice**](http://garnetice.livejournal.com/)    
 **Chapter:** 23  
 **Rating:** M  
 **Ship(s):** Kendall/James, Carlos/Stephanie, Logan/Camille, maybe more.  
 **Summary:** Future!Fic. Kendall returns to L.A. six years after Big Time Rush disbanded. James has been missing for years. Imagine how things change when James reappears in his life. And he needs help.  
 **Previous Chapters:**[1](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/852.html#cutid1), [2](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1274.html), [3](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1511.html#cutid1), [4](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1554.html#cutid1), [5](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1996.html#cutid1), [6](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2234.html), [7](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2308.html#cutid1), [8](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2649.html), [9](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2935.html#cutid1), [10](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/3210.html), [11](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/3342.html#cutid1), [12](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/3705.html#cutid1), [13](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/3896.html#cutid1), [14](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/4461.html#cutid1), [15](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/4834.html#cutid1), [16](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/4876.html#cutid1), [17](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/5215.html), [18](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/5571.html#cutid1), [19](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/5870.html#cutid1), [20](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/5966.html#cutid1), [21](http://oursecretspace.livejournal.com/6166.html#cutid1), [22](http://oursecretspace.livejournal.com/6876.html#cutid1)  
  
  
  
  
Chapter Twenty-Three  
  
We fucked three times before James finally wore out and collapsed into the pillows on my bed, and I laid next to him, absently stroking his back, staring at the ceiling. I couldn’t sleep – big surprise – but I couldn’t stop thinking about what to do next. It was complicated. I’d messed up a lot of things. And now that I had James, I needed to get back to good, somehow.  
  
But first. I really needed some sleep.  
  
Too bad it was so hard to do.  
  
I curled into James and closed my eyes and tried my hardest to get some shuteye.  
  
I slept for maybe an hour. When my eyes cracked open, James was gone, his side of the bed still somewhat warm from his body heat. For a second, I honestly panicked. I thought he’d left me. After all the promises I had made not to leave him, he’d never for a second agreed to the same. And I hadn’t really thought about how I could deal with James actually leaving, with the not-knowing. I didn’t think I could deal with it again.  
Then I heard the shuffling in the bathroom and I let out a sigh of relief, only to suck it back in when I heard a noise that sounded much more like a sob than anything.  
  
“James?” I called out, clambering out of bed and sliding some jeans on – even though I was sore as hell, and movement was the worst thing in the world.  
  
I cracked open the door, and the noises were louder. He was sobbing.  
  
“James?”  
  
He was in the empty bathtub, shaking against the wall, his arm belted and a syringe in his hand. He looked at me with terrified eyes, his face ghostly white and looking so much gaunter in the dim light.  
  
“N-need… it,” he stammered before tumbling over the commode next to the tub and vomiting. “C-can’t find… a vein.”  
  
He held it out to me, pleading with his eyes, and I couldn’t help myself.  
  
I clambered into the tub with him and holding him to my chest as he shuddered and quaked with withdrawal, that syringe in my shaking hand. It was clean for the most part, but I couldn’t help but feel like it was diseased, tainted, rusted. James leaned his face into my neck, and I could feel his shuddering breath on my skin, the quick jerks of his body as he begged for my help. I felt gently at his scarred arm, felt for a vein in that pulsing body, and found one nearly collapsed. Collapsed… I didn’t like the fact that his veins were collapsed. Sweat was sticking his hair to my skin, and he was legitimately crying, like he had in seventh grade when he had the flu at school and ended up in such bad shape that an ambulance had to be called. He was never one to handle sickness well. And yet, here he was, filling his body with it, allowing the addiction to possess his mind…. I stuck the needle in his arm, watching where the skin indented underneath its point, and God… I thought I was going to vomit. But I held steady, sliding that poison, that awful shit, into his arm. I tried to tell myself it was just like giving him a shot… but I knew the shot was actually killing him. He began thanking me incoherently, clinging to me as the shaking began to subside, and sleep began to claim him. I pet his hair, wishing the drugs had never taken him away from me.  
  
But then again, had they really? Or had I pushed him at them and run? Seemed more like the latter to me. But I knew that I couldn’t do it again. I couldn’t let him waste away in my arms. Because not knowing where he was was one thing. Knowing he was dead was another. The entire idea left a sour taste in my mouth.  
  
“I love you,” I said softly, knowing he was slumbering in my arms.  
  
And that was why I had to do something.  
  
I carried James to bed after what seemed like hours, and I set forth on making a plan. I’d always been a _fixer_ and I wasn’t about to stop that because of a few set-backs. And as much as I really did love James, I couldn’t let him drag me down with him. I couldn’t watch him die. First, I promised myself never to shoot him up again. If I had let him suffer through the withdrawal, he might have started to recover. But I couldn’t watch him go through it. Not that night. Not after I had told him I’d be there for him. And he needed me.  
  
First thing was first…  
  
I called Logan. His phone rang into his answering machine.  
  
“Hey,” I said softly, waiting, wishing he would pick up. He didn’t. I hung up. It was a start.  
  
Then I gathered the CD James had recorded, shoving it into my jeans pocket. I slipped on a flannel shirt and slipped into the bedroom where James was still sleeping.  
  
“I’ll be back soon,” I said softly, kissing him on just above his right eye.  
  
“Mmmuh, okay,” he murmured; then pulled me in for a kiss that was sloppy and lazy. I snickered against him, wrenching my face away with a smile.  
  
“Not now. I have things to do.”  
  
James was a little too dazed to argue, so he rolled over and went back to sleep. I saw the inflamed red spot where I had injected him, and it only solidified what I had to do. I left James a note, just in case he was too high to remember that I’d told him I’d be back, and headed out.  
  
…  
  
I slipped up the metal stairs and through that creaky metal door, and I was immediately uncomfortable. I knew what I was about to face, and I wasn’t looking forward to it one bit. But it had to be done. So I gritted my teeth and made my way across the catwalk, down to the stage. Guitar Dude actually didn’t hear me come down. He was concentrating on his guitar playing, some song that I just barely recognized but couldn’t place at the time.  
  
But when he caught sight of me, he immediately stopped, scowling.  
  
“What the fuck do _you_ want?”  
  
I held up my hands in defense, though he looked a little too sluggish to really do anything about it. His hands looked a little shaky, but not nearly as bad as James had last night.  
  
I didn’t like comparing them, especially when James has been so much worse.  
  
“Calm down. I just need to talk to you.”  
  
“Fuck off.”  
  
“Look,” I stammered, trying to get a handle on the situation. “I know you don’t like me.”  
  
“Oh, so glad you got the memo!”  
  
“Hey, I don’t like you either, alright? We can agree on that. But we both care about James.”  
  
He grimaced, like it literally sickened him to agree with me.  
  
“I already told you-“  
  
“Yeah, yeah, you just keep telling yourself that he’s using me. But he’s not.”  
  
Joseph glared, putting down the guitar. “I was there for him when you weren’t.”  
  
“Well, I’m here now. And I’m not leaving, so you better get used to it.”  
  
“So you…” And there was a strange new tone to his voice that I hadn’t heard before. “So you think you can just waltz back in here and take him away? Is that it? You arrogant prick.” He shoved me. I didn’t shove him back. “Cause you’re so much better.”  
  
“I don’t want him living this life, Joseph. This isn’t where he belongs.”  
  
“What the fuck do you know?! You didn’t watch what _your_ life did to him! You don’t know _anything_!” His voice was raw, and more emotional than I had ever heard it. It actually had me rocking back on my heels a little, alarmed. He wilted a little, exhausted, pushing some of his long, matted, hair out of his face. “Those people… those Hollywood elites? They’re poison. They… they take your soul. They do everything they can to turn you into their own little robot, to make you do what they say. And if you’re not perfect… you’re nothing.”  
  
“The drugs are taking his soul, Joseph…”  
  
“Shut up!”  
  
“They are!” I yelled, my own voice suddenly unrecognizable too. “They’re killing him! You care about him don’t you?! Do you really want to watch him fucking… waste away?!”  
  
“No!” And he looked shaken, lost, and so much like James that it killed me. He was wasting away too. “B-but…. What do you want me to do? What do you expect me to do?”  
  
And there it was. Suddenly, he wasn’t the epitome of James. He was just like me, just as scared and unknowing and in love as me. In a way, I could understand. James was such an amazing, special individual. It must have been hard for anyone around him for a long time not to fall for him fast and hard. I knew that neither of us would be able to make it without him. Neither of us were really handling him the way he needed to be handled – because we cared too much. We were too delicate. We needed to do something big.  
  
“James isn’t… he’s not going to get clean without you. He’s got to get back to what he was-“  
  
“He’s not—I’m not-“  
  
“Here.” I handed him the CD. He looked at me like I was insane. “Just listen to it, okay? Please.”  
  
He gazed at it for a long time as if he was waiting for me to snatch it back and say forget it. But I wasn’t. I wouldn’t. This was for James.  
  
“That disc… that’s what he could be right now. If he was clean. I really think… he could be happy again.”  
  
Joseph’s shoulders and jaw tensed, like he was trying not to cry. “I thought he _was_ happy.”  
  
“You know how much he loves you. You two need each other to get through this.”  
  
He nodded wearily, still not looking up from the CD. I could swear I saw a tear sliding out of his eye.  
I felt like I might have gotten through to him. “I’ll come back soon, and you can tell me what you decide. You need to know that… I’m going to get James clean with or without you. But I’d rather he have both of us. And it’d be a hell of a lot easier with you on my side… just this once.”  
  
I left him standing in a flickering stage light, hunching my shoulders and hitting the pavement once again.  
  
I was feeling pretty good about myself for making the effort, so I called Logan again. He still didn’t pick up. I didn’t bother with the message. I wanted to be stubborn about that too, because as awful as I had been to him, I really didn’t want to think I’d shut the door on our friendship forever. We’d had plenty of fights over the years, after all.  
  
Then again, this one was a lot bigger than anything we’d ever bickered about when we were little.  
  
But I was trying to stay positive. I had James. It seemed I’d gotten through to Joseph. I was sure if I could manage not to worry Logan too much, he’d come back too. And if he didn’t…  
  
Well, at least I wouldn’t be a burden on him anymore.  
  
I tried to push the thought from my mind, picking up some In-N-Out for James and me and heading back to the apartment for the greasiest breakfast ever.  
  
…  
  
“Mornin’,” I greeted with a grin, watching James hover over his coffee, but not really drink it.  
  
He looked rough. I supposed the withdrawal would do that.  
  
“You look happy,” he said, smiling, but way too tired to make it look real.  
  
“I’ve got In-N-Out.”  
  
James grimaced. “At ten in the morning?”  
  
“Never too early for animal fries.”  
  
“You have a horrible diet. I just hope you know that.”  
  
“You could afford to put on a few,” I replied good-naturedly, dropping the bag in front of him. “How are you feeling?”  
  
He smirked. “I’m fine. You’re walking a little wobbly though. Hope I didn’t hurt you too bad.”  
  
I made sure to play up having difficulty sitting down. “No, no. Of course not.” Then we laughed. He laid his hand on top of mine and actually munched on a few animal fries.  
  
“Where’d you go? I don’t think In-N-Out is out the door at this time of day.”  
  
I laced my fingers with his, and took a massive bite full of burger, only to realize that, yeah, it was kind of early for In-N-Out, and I felt a little sick to my stomach.  
  
“Told you,” James chided with a grin, so I choked down the whole thing in a matter of minutes, just to spite him.  
  
“I just had get some stuff done.” Then I lied. “Paid my electric bill, stuff like that.”  
  
I didn’t like lying to him, but he seemed to believe me for once. Besides, if he knew that I had prodded Joseph into helping him get clean, he’d never accept the help. James stood and sauntered around the table, wrapping his arms around my shoulder and kissing me on the neck. I leaned into him, closing my eyes and relishing the moment. One thing I hated was how used I’d gotten to him being high. I couldn’t tell the difference anymore.  
  
But then, I could tell myself that he would be the same when he was better. Except he’d be safe.  
  
“I had a dream while you were gone,” James said. “I dreamt that you were playing guitar for me.”  
  
“Oh, really?”  
  
“Yes,” James said.  
  
“I can do that.”  
  
“Can you do it without your clothes on? You weren’t wearing any in my dream.”  
  
I chuckled against another kiss to my collarbone. “But then I wouldn’t get any playing done.”  
  
“Oh, I’m sure you could get through a couple of lyrics,” James murmured, swinging his leg over the chair and straddling me. Then he was kissing me fiercely, and even though I was so fucking sore, I never wanted to let him go.  
  
I thought about what our lives would be like if he was sober. We had a good amount of money. We could spend every day waking up late in each other’s arms if we wanted to. We could spend every night singing songs and watching television and movies and just enjoying the company. We could go to parties that didn’t involve skeezy bars or drugs. We could visit our families, our friends, without those sad, worried looks. And maybe, just maybe, I could play hockey again.  
  
It didn’t sound like a bad plan at all.  
  
He was unbuttoning my shirt and kissing down my chest when my phone rang.  
  
“Ohhh, come on,” I groaned, lifting it to see that it was Carlos. “Alright, quit it for a second.”  
  
James made a frustrated noise, but I kissed him on the top of his head and he just leaned into my shoulder while I pressed the phone to my ear.  
  
“Carlitos, how’s it going?”  
  
“Wow,” he said.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Nothing. You just sound… happy.”  
  
I didn’t really think I sounded any different. But I was happy for the moment, fleeting as I knew it would be.  
  
“What’s up?”  
  
“Well, I wanted to invite you to a party this weekend.”  
  
“Oh yeah?”  
  
“Yeah! Steph and I are finding out the sex of the baby this weekend, so we thought we should share it with our closest friends and family, y’know? Katie’s coming, and your mom, and Camille…”  
  
And Logan, I wanted to finish. But he was in Florida.  
  
Yep. Fleeting, alright.  
  
“Oh, um… sure. Yeah, I’ll come,” I said, a little distracted by the fact that James’ impatience had gotten the better of him and he was currently sliding his hand down into my jeans and mouthing my neck again. “Sounds great.”  
  
“Great! Oh, man. I want it to be a boy. No! A girl! I think I’d be a good daddy to a little girl. And I could scare away potential dates. But the boy could be fun to roughhouse with…”  
  
I smiled. “I’m sure you’ll get to roughhouse with whatever she has, man.”  
  
“Yeah,” he sighed, and it was the sound of bliss. “Man, I wish Logan would come back. It’s gonna be a big day.”  
  
And I had a feeling in my gut that, yeah, it really was going to be a big day.  
  
“Hey, you’re breathing a little funny,” he said absently. “Are you okay?” I heard Stephanie start to giggle in the background and I flushed bright red, even though he couldn’t see me.  
  
Yeah, I was. Because James had found my dick, and was stroking it very gently, teasingly slow. “Oh, y-yeah. Fine,” I said. “Just got back from a run.”  
  
“You don’t need to lose weight, dude. You’re skinny enough. Your mom’s just gonna send you home with more food.”  
  
“I have greasy In-N-Out right in front of me, thank you very much.”  
  
“Well, kick back for a bit. Your breathing’s ragged,” Carlos said.  
  
Stephanie was full on laughing in the background. “Honey, let him off the phone. Can’t you hear he’s busy?”  
  
I was on speakerphone. That jerk. And I could feel a moan bubbling in my throat that was threatening to escape.  
  
“Oh,” Carlos said. Then, with clarity. “OH! Dude!” Then he cackled, and I was embarrassed. “Well, you have fun with your pretty young thing. See you Saturday!”  
  
And he hung up.  
  
And James was laughing harder that Stephanie and Carlos combined. “Pretty young thing! Oh, my God!”  
  
“Dude, shut up!” I squeaked, but then we were kissing again, small argument forgotten in the heat of lust.  
His hands were on my neck, fingers pushing my jaw open so he could get more space, and his tongue was slipping over my teeth like he’d done it a million times.  
  
It kind of felt like he had.  
  
…  
  
The next few days were similar to that one – filled with a very much missed joy and plenty of sex. I found myself falling harder for him every day. Each little glance in my direction made my heart flutter. Each smile made me melt. And when he laced his fingers with mine, or kissed me, or groaned my name, I wondered how I’d managed without him even for a second.  
  
Then I remembered, that really, I kind of hadn’t.  
  
And I did play guitar for him one morning, sitting cross-legged on the bed, the instrument the only thing hiding my shame, so to speak. And, as I predicted, I made it through maybe a verse before James was jumping me and pushing me into the mattress.  
  
God, everything seemed so perfect during the day.  
  
At night, though, he was still shooting up. And I shouldn’t have been flattered that he would allow himself to get into massive withdrawal before he shot up. I knew in the back of my mind that I needed to talk to Joseph. I needed to push my plan forward. I couldn’t afford to get so caught up in the fact that I was with James that I was unable to save him.  
  
But I couldn’t help it. I was just so happy to have him, all to myself, even for a short time.  
  
Remember what I said about happiness being fleeting?  
  
James had been kissing me against the kitchen counter when his phone buzzed in his pocket, vibrating against both of our thighs.  
  
“Is that your phone or are you happy to see me?” I joked and he rolled his eyes, pulling it out of his pocket and giving me a playful slap on the chest.  
  
“Hello?” he answered, all cheer. Then, his face took on this strange, stony look, and he was walling himself away from me. I felt panic rise in my chest and I reached out for him. He stepped away. “What? No. No. I’ll be right there. Bye.”  
  
He looked to me. “Sorry. To be continued.”  
  
“What happened?”  
  
The color was draining from his face as he turned away from me. “I don’t… I don’t know right now. Okay?”  
  
And he left.  
  
I thought seriously about going after him, but I couldn’t get my feet to move. There was an overwhelming feeling of dread weighing me down, holding me to the floor, and damn… I had never felt so sick to my stomach. Something had happened. I felt it all the way through my bones.  
  
I called Logan again. It went to voicemail.  
  
Suddenly, I felt like nothing was alright. I was back to where I had been before. Lost. Wondering. Terrified. Except this time, I didn’t have Logan to fall back on. After all, Katie suggested I get help. But when it really came down to it, I really couldn’t think of who to ask. I’d been so awful… who would want to?  
  
…  
  
James was gone for hours. I found myself craving him desperately, calling him every fifteen minutes, basically being what every obsessed lover could be. But it wasn’t because I was obsessed. Or not completely. It was because with each ticking minute that passed, I felt worse and worse. I couldn’t eat. I definitely couldn’t sleep. I just knew something was wrong.  
  
That feeling didn’t change when James stormed into my apartment. I was in the kitchen when I heard him come in.  
  
“James!” I exclaimed, and I couldn’t contain the concern in my voice when he rounded the corner to face me.  
  
He looked… different, his eyes more wild than I’d ever seen them, and bloodshot. His hair was frayed in places and he was dirty and covered in… God, was it vomit? And his nose had been bleeding. The crust of blood was dried over the top of his upper lip. He couldn’t seem to stop moving. He was literally vibrating with energy.  
I thought that this must have been the James on coke that Joseph had warned me about.  
  
“What… what happened?”  
  
James held up the CD. The CD I gave Joseph.  
  
Then smashed it against the cabinets, screaming, “ _YOU SON OF A BITCH!_ ”  
  
And his hands were on me, bruising me on contact. I winced, trying to look him straight in the eye, but his pupils were practically jumping.  
  
“Wh-what—“ I stammered, my heart hammering in my chest.  
  
And then James slammed my head into the cabinets. Pain bloomed in my skull and my ears were ringing. I gripped the counter, trying to stop my knees from buckling.  
  
But I could still hear what James said. It pierced through the roar of it all, straight into my soul.  
  
“ _You KILLED HIM!_ ” Tears were sliding out of the sides of his eyes, but the room was so bright that it was hard to tell. “ _You KILLED JOSEPH!_ ”  
  
It started to click.  
  
Joseph was dead.  
  
He… was actually dead.  
  
James shook me, trying to hit me against the counter again, but I managed to scramble out of his grasp, stumbling to the floor. My heartbeat was pounding in my head, a constant rhythm that only seemed to get quicker as he pursued me. I tried my best to crawl away, but he grabbed me by the foot and dragged me back to him. I kicked him in the knee. He threw me across the kitchen in a clatter of pots and pans.  
  
“You ruined _everything!_ ”  
  
He spun on his heel and rushed out, knocking shit down as he went. I leaned against the oven, trying to gather my bearings. I had to go after him. I couldn’t let him leave. If I let him leave he would be out of my life forever.  
  
But I had ruined everything.  
  
I had killed Joseph.  
  
I had given him that CD. I had made him feel guilty. I had made him think he didn’t make James happy. He loved James. I should have recognized that heartbroken look on his face before I left, the same one I’d worn but on a much more vulnerable façade. I should have made sure…  
  
He had overdosed. I knew it in my heart.  
  
But it was still my fault.  
  
I didn’t care. I couldn’t let him go.  
  
But by the time I had gotten to my feet and rushed after him, he was long gone. I don’t know how long it actually took me to get up. I ran to the nearest passerby and asked if she’d seen him.  
  
“Um, honey, are you okay?” she asked, and she looked really fucking wary of me.  
  
“Have you seen him?!” I half-commanded. “He’s about six-foot, skinny, with long brown hair and hazel eyes, and…”  
  
I felt a lump in my throat. I knew everything about James. Every little freckle, every little scar. But I couldn’t describe him any further to her. Because she didn’t understand.  
  
“I think you need a doctor—“  
  
“I need to find him!”  
  
Fuck her, I thought, pushing past her and running down the sidewalk. And I didn’t stop anyone. I just kept running. Like, maybe he would pop out in front of me and I could tackle him and beg him to stay and forgive me, because I had gone to Joseph with the best intentions. I hadn’t meant to…  
  
To…  
  
 _“YOU KILLED HIM!”_  
  
It flashed in my head, and I nearly collided with a streetlight, clinging to it and swinging to stop my momentum. I was shaking so hard that my wrists were clanging against the damn thing, and I didn’t feel like I could get any air into my lungs. They were hollow, ripped from my chest.  
  
 _“You ruined everything!”_  
  
I squeezed my eyes shut, a fresh wave of pain washing over me, and I clutched that pole like it was the only thing holding me to the planet.  
  
Mainly because it was.  
  
I searched for him in every face that passed by, and I kept running and screaming his name. And the thing with the people in the area of L.A. I was looking for him… they would just stare. They wouldn’t help. They would just look at me like I’d lost my mind. Some would shoo their children away from me, like I was some crazed monster.  
  
 _“YOU KILLED HIM!”_  
  
I clasped my hands over my ears, trying to will it out of my head, because it was toxic. I kept running, slipping around corners and over fences and through places I had never travelled. It all ran together, blurring in my vision, and I just kept looking. Because James…  
  
I couldn’t even think clearly.  
  
My phone rang.  
  
I remember vaguely that stupid, ugly ringtone catching my attention, yanking me back to October, when Logan had called. When we decided to come out to L.A. When this whole thing started. And I froze in the middle of the sidewalk, gazing at the name flashing on the display.  
  
Carlos.  
  
I pushed it up to my ear.  
  
“Hello?” I murmured, and my voice sounded so far away that I hardly recognized it.  
  
“Hey! Where are you?”  
  
Oh, Carlos.  
  
Always so clueless.  
  
“Wh-what?” I squeezed my eyes shut, because my head was hurting so badly now that I’d stopped running, and I couldn’t stop thinking about how James was gone, gone, gone, gone. And it was all my fault.  
  
“The party? I know you’ve always been fashionably late, but three hours is impressive even for you.”  
  
He sounded irritated.  
  
“Oh…”  
  
I don’t know why I said what I said next.  
  
“I’ll… be there soon. Okay?”  
  
And I hung up before he could say anything further.  
  
There was something sticky on my phone. I wiped it off on my shirt and put it back in my pocket.  
  
James was gone.  
  
James was gone.  
  
James was gone.  
  
I looked up.  
  
Where the fuck was I? I had lost all track of distance and time and everything. Because James was gone.  
  
And it was all my fault.  
  
Joseph was dead.  
  
And it was all my fault.  
  
And James was gone.  
  
I wanted to scream.  
  
 _“YOU KILLED HIM!”  
  
“You ruined everything!”  
  
“Faggot!”  
  
“Why don’t you just pack your shit and go back to Florida and get the fuck out of my life?!”  
  
“Fine!”  
  
“I wanted you to leave! I wanted you to be happy!”  
  
“But I’m not.”  
  
“I thought he was happy.”  
  
“YOU KILLED HIM!”_  
  
I don’t know how I ended up outside of Carlos’ home. I honestly don’t. But I’d lost another hour in the pursuit.  
  
I let myself in. Carlos had a bad habit of not locking doors. I could hear him and Stephanie in the living room, silencing the crowd.  
  
“Well, we wanted to wait for Kendall… but… you tell them, honey.”  
  
“Carlos and I… are having twins!”  
  
There was a sudden exclamation of joy from the people in the living room, oohs and ahhs and gasps of pleasure, little coos from everyone involved.  
  
“A boy and a girl!” Carlos chirped. “I get to have both!”  
  
I stopped outside the door. I couldn’t go in. I couldn’t ruin their amazing day. I couldn’t do it.  
  
But I needed them.  
  
But I couldn’t do it.  
  
But I needed them.  
  
 _“You ruined everything!”_  
  
Then the door was opening in front of me, and Katie was standing there, her dark brown eyes wide, almost like she was a child again.  
  
“Oh, my God,” she said.  
  
And Katie was never one to be shocked.  
  
But I walked past her. I don’t know why. There was a weird part of me that thought, hey, maybe James had been invited. Maybe James had gone. Which was stupid, because I knew where James was. Well, maybe not where, but definitely what he was doing.  
  
Dying.  
  
Carlos went ashen when he saw me, and he was practically running across the room, his hands on me.  
  
“Kendall! Kendall. Hey, look at me,” he said, and his voice was higher and quicker and louder than normal.  
  
And Katie was at my back, her soft hands on me too, and I didn’t understand why everyone had to touch me.  
  
“Oh, my God!” My mom repeated Katie’s words, but much more panicked. And she was right there too.  
  
“Kendall, what happened?!” Camille yelped. They were all there, looking over me like curious animals, peering at me with fear in their eyes.  
  
I told the truth.  
  
“I… killed… him…”  
  
And suddenly I was shoved into Carlos’ shoulder. But no. I wasn’t shoved. He was lowering me to the floor.  
“Easy! Easy! Kendall… hang on.”  
  
There was something sticky on my face. I hadn’t even realized it until then. I brushed my fingertips against it and pulled them away to examine the substance.  
  
Blood?  
  
Then everything went black.  
  
…  
  
I was standing in a field. Or at least, that’s what I thought it was at first. But when I looked down at the smart black suit I was wearing and the stones around my feet, I knew that I was in a cemetery. I looked up, and I could see the gathering of people around that ugly blue tarp that was always hung over to protect the casket from the sun. I could see the flowers, poking up from the silhouettes of grieving loved ones. And there was Zack and Danika, standing to the side. And Danika was singing. I didn’t even know she could sing.  
  
 _Blackbird singing in the dead of night  
Take these broken wings and learn to fly  
All your life  
You were only waiting for this moment to arise…_  
  
I remembered that I liked that song. And I liked her arrangement. It was poignant and slow and beautiful. Her bleached hair was curled, sliding around her face in the wind, and she was wearing a long, drab, black, lacy dress, and what looked like all the silver jewelry she owned. And she just kept singing, like she never even saw me.  
  
I walked between Carlos and Logan.  
  
“What happened?” I asked.  
  
They were weeping, much too busy with grief to answer my question.  
  
Then I remembered. Joseph… Guitar Dude… he was dead.  
  
But where were his parents? Where was his family? Did he grow that estranged from them when he dove into the drug world of L.A.? Or maybe even before that? Did they not care? Were they gone too?  
But then I was approaching the casket, and as I peered over it, I knew why.  
  
Because their son wasn’t in that casket.  
  
James was.  
  
James was in the casket, all shined up like he was young and healthy again, except he wasn’t, because he was dead. Dead.  
  
“James…” I gasped, and the grief was sharp and sudden in my chest. Like he’d died unexpectedly. Like we were young and still invincible.  
  
I collapsed over the coffin and screamed. Screamed until my lungs felt hollow and my throat felt raw.  
And they were pulling me away from him. From James, who was dead.  
  
James was dead.  
  
And it was all my fault.  
  
I thrashed against Carlos and Logan’s grip, screaming and crying desperately for them to let me go. Because I had to save him. I couldn’t fail from saving him. I couldn’t. I couldn’t live without him.  
  
And my head was hurting. Oh, God. It was hurting so bad. I looked up to see a hockey stick collide with my face.  
  
 _“Faggot.”_  
  
I felt the blood rushing down my face, blinding me temporarily, as I turned from side to side, trying to force my way out of their grip.  
  
Joseph stood there, leaning against the casket, his head bowed.  
  
“I… thought he was happy,” he said.  
  
“But he’s not…”  
  
My eyes shot open.  
  
The first thing I registered was how badly my head was hurting. I gritted my teeth, curling at the suddenness of it all.  
  
The second thing I noticed was the voice outside the door.  
  
“You let him _sleep?!_ ”  
  
“I’m sorry! I just… he went down. I couldn’t get him to wake up!”  
  
“Oh, God. When’s the last time he ate? Slept?”  
  
“I don’t know! I’ve never seen him look so bad.”  
  
“You are lucky, okay? Very lucky that I was already on my way.”  
  
The door was flung open and light blasted into my retinas. I actually yelled, my hands scratching at my eyes like maybe if I ripped them out of my head, I wouldn’t have to deal with it anymore.  
  
“Sit up.”  
  
And then he was shining the damn light in my eyes and I winced, trying to get away from the offending object.  
  
“Stop.”  
  
Then, a sigh. “When’s the last time you ate?”  
  
I couldn’t remember. So I stared in the dark.  
  
“Slept?”  
  
“Been… awhile…”  
  
“Well, good news is that it wasn’t the fact that your head was bleeding that you passed out. It’s because your blood sugar was so fucking low.”  
  
Then the lamp was turned on and I wailed again, trying to hide from it like a vampire… with a massive hangover.  
  
“Are you fucking _stupid_? Is that what it is? Because I really, honestly don’t know—“  
  
I looked up at him. My eyes were watering.  
  
“Logan… You came back…”  
  
“You’re lucky I have this massively good intuition. You know that?” He said. “I just… I _knew_ something bad was going to happen. I knew it.”  
  
“I…” I couldn’t talk. My voice completely left me. And he just kept lecturing.  
  
So I just fell forward into his chest. And cried.  
  
I cried like I never had before. I gripped to Logan and wailed into his shirt, my voice so raw and different. My chest heaved and contracted painfully, and I could feel my nails digging into his skin. But I couldn’t stop. I tried. I really did. But every time I attempted to pull myself together, I shattered further apart.  
  
And then Logan’s arms were around me, and he was coddling me, like a child.  
  
“Shhhh,” he said softly. “It’s okay.”  
  
“It’s not!” I finally yelped. “I’ve… I’ve ruined _everything_!” James’ words…  
  
“You haven’t.”  
  
“I have! I… he’s gone… he’s sick… and he’s gone… and Joseph’s dead…”  
  
“Joseph…?”  
  
It was another blow to the gut to realize that they didn’t even know about Guitar Dude. Didn’t know that he loved James. Didn’t know that I had been responsible for his death.  
  
“I tried… to fix it. I tried to fix it.”  
  
I wasn’t making sense. I felt like I was speaking a different language, or trying to explain an algebra problem to a four year old. I couldn’t seem to find the right vocabulary. But Logan just held me.  
  
“I know,” he said softly. “That’s what you do.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” I sobbed. “I’m sorry!”  
  
“It’s okay.”  
  
“No, it’s not!”  
  
“Kendall, I need you to tell me what happened.”  
  
I couldn’t catch my breath.  
  
“What do you want, Kendall? I can get you what you want,” Carlos suggested meekly, slipping over to my side.  
  
I spoke without thinking. “I want to die.”  
  
Because if Joseph was dead, then James would want to die, and if James was dead, I didn’t want to live anymore either.  
  
Logan clutched me violently, even hitting me on the back. “Don’t fucking say that! Don’t _ever_ fucking say that!” And fuck, if both of them weren’t crying with me.  
  
We held each other and cried together, the spectacle, the show, for our mortified, on-looking friends and family. I wished I could make them understand why I wasn’t worth their time. I couldn’t do anything for them anymore. I wasn’t who I used to be, their knight in shining armor, their leader, their net to catch them when they fell. I was a burden. The armor was rusted; the net was frayed. And they were so radiant… how could they possibly even associate with me?  
  
“I wish…” I whispered. “I wish we could go back…”  
  
“But we can’t, Kendall…”  
  
“But…” I was getting downright pathetic. “But you don’t need me anymore.” And I was withering again, wallowing in my sorrows.  
  
“Are you kidding? Of course we do!” Carlos said, rubbing my back sweetly. “Don’t ever think that we don’t. Why do you think we’ve been so worried about you, huh?”  
  
Logan’s voice cracked. “Do you really think for a second that we could keep our lives together without you?”  
  
The others were easing into the room. The beast had calmed down, they must have suspected.  
  
“Kendall,” Katie said, sliding up on the mattress of the bed I’d been laid on, wrapping her arms around one of mine. “It’s time. You can’t keep this down anymore.”  
  
I stared at her; then looked at them… the group of people in my life, the ones that worried about me, the ones that caught me when I collapsed. They had all had their hands on me.  
  
“Honey,” my mom asked, and her voice was shaken, like she’d been through the ringer quite a few times. “What’s going on?”  
  
I squeezed Katie’s hand.  
  
“…Mom… I’m…” My mouth went dry. Katie squeezed my hand back. “I’m gay.”  
  
It was like letting out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Because she was still looking at me with all the love in her heart.  
  
“Oh… oh, _honey_ …” And she was pulling me into her chest and holding me, like I was four and had scraped my knee. “Is that all? Is that really what you’ve been worried about?”  
  
I gave off this weird, cynical chuckle. “I wish it was all...”  
  
I looked to Logan and Carlos, and there was this incredible look of understanding on their faces, equal, and all-knowing.  
  
“James…” Carlos said softly.  
  
I nodded.  
  
“Kendall,” Logan said slowly. “Where’s James?”  
  
I felt the tears coming fresh.  
  
“I don’t know.”  



	24. Shut Your Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Future!Fic. Kendall returns to L.A. six years after Big Time Rush disbanded. James has been missing for years. Imagine how things change when James reappears in his life. And he needs help.

**Title:** Shut Your Eyes  
 **Authors:**  [](http://goten0040.livejournal.com/profile)[ **goten0040**](http://goten0040.livejournal.com/)   and [](http://garnetice.livejournal.com/profile)[ **garnetice**](http://garnetice.livejournal.com/)    
 **Chapter:** 24  
 **Rating:** M  
 **Ship(s):** Kendall/James, Carlos/Stephanie, Logan/Camille, maybe more.  
 **Summary:** Future!Fic. Kendall returns to L.A. six years after Big Time Rush disbanded. James has been missing for years. Imagine how things change when James reappears in his life. And he needs help.  
 **Previous Chapters:**[1](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/852.html#cutid1), [2](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1274.html), [3](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1511.html#cutid1), [4](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1554.html#cutid1), [5](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1996.html#cutid1), [6](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2234.html), [7](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2308.html#cutid1), [8](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2649.html), [9](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2935.html#cutid1), [10](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/3210.html), [11](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/3342.html#cutid1), [12](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/3705.html#cutid1), [13](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/3896.html#cutid1), [14](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/4461.html#cutid1), [15](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/4834.html#cutid1), [16](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/4876.html#cutid1), [17](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/5215.html), [18](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/5571.html#cutid1), [19](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/5870.html#cutid1), [20](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/5966.html#cutid1), [21](http://oursecretspace.livejournal.com/6166.html#cutid1), [22](http://oursecretspace.livejournal.com/6876.html#cutid1), [23](http://oursecretspace.livejournal.com/6978.html#cutid1)  


 

\---

  
“I’m not feeble.”

Logan did not look fooled. 

“I’m perfectly capable of walking,” I tried. He was unmoved. 

“Stay in bed.”

“But I have to pee.”

Logan sighed. “This better not be another trick. Carlos or Katie will call if they find him.”

I made a face at him. That was exactly the problem. It had been three hours since my big revelation. I was considerably calmer, and James, clearly, did not want to be found. He had a knack for vanishing off the face of the Earth. I’d given everyone all the information I had on James’s haunts, but he hadn’t exactly brought me around to his dealer. I’d seen a few seedy clubs and the theater he called home; the rest of his life was all shadows. 

As for me? I was under lock and key in my apartment. I’d tried to bolt from the bed earlier under the pretense of fetching a glass of water, but Logan was too smart to fall for my scams. He’d caught me going for my cell phone and immediately tackled me back onto the comforter.

“I don’t need a babysitter, you know. I’m fine.”

“I beg to differ. Look. We’ll find James, okay?” Logan’s eyes were wide, exhausted. He knew the stakes now. 

When I’d told everyone that I was scared of what James would do, the first question raised had been _why_? 

_ Joseph _ , I’d told them, his name bitter in my mouth. God, I was even jealous of him dead. What kind of sick fuck was I? Almost immediately, the overwhelming guilt of what I’d done threatened to drown me. But then I was distracted by the flood of voices all asking one thing. _Who the hell is Joseph_? 

Which had, of course, lead to an exhausting conversation about Guitar Dude. Which had lead to tears. Mostly on Logan and Carlos’s parts, because frankly, I was cried out. My body didn’t have it in me anymore. 

I didn’t tell them the whole story. I _couldn’t_ tell them the whole story. I was gay and Joseph was dead, and James was teetering on the brink of something. That was all my friends and family needed to know. 

But Logan, being Logan, knew there was more to it. 

“Kendall, it’s not your fault.”

I looked pointedly at the wall and said, “I fucked with him when I knew he wasn’t- emotionally stable, or whatever. I knew he probably couldn’t handle it. It’s like punching someone who can’t fight back. I know better than that. Or I used to.”

He tried, “Look. You don’t know that he overdosed on purpose.”

“You don’t know that he didn’t.”

“It’s not your fault,” Logan repeated adamantly, but what did he know? Nothing at all. I glared at him.

“I’m tired, Logan. I can’t do this right now.” I’d bared a part of my soul, but it didn’t mean I was ready to bare it all. 

“Good.” 

“What?”

“When you’re tired, you actually act like you give a fuck.”

I scowled at him. “As opposed to?”

“As opposed to when you’re _not_ tired, and you’re off in Minnesota, pretending everything is perfect.”

“I always give a fuck, okay?” I raked a hand through my hair and groaned, “I’m ill. You shouldn’t harass the ill.”

“I thought you were fine.”

“Shut up.” 

“Shove over,” Logan commanded. I obeyed, but only because he seriously looked like he might’ve smacked me if I didn’t. 

To my surprise, he crawled into bed with me. 

“Does this mean I don’t get to pee?”

Logan nudged me with his elbow, cuddling up to my side, and a hazy warmth settled over me. He said, “Gay, hunh? So have you ever, like, imagined me naked?”

I was about to snap something nasty at him, but then I saw the way his lips were quirked, cheeks dimpling, like he could just barely hold back a smile. 

“All the time. Does that make you uncomfortable enough that you’re going to get up and let me pee?”

Logan’s arm circled around my middle and he mumbled, “Nope. So. Are you seeing anyone?”

“Truth?” I asked carefully. 

“Truth,” he confirmed, and even though his face was still buried in my ribcage, I could tell he was watching me. My eyes fluttered closed. It felt like if I admitted it out loud, everything between me and James would cease to exist. “It’s complicated.”

Logan, wisely, chose not to question me about it. 

We fell asleep that way, intertwined. There wasn’t a damned thing sexual about it, but I still slept a lot better than I had in ages.    


  
\---

  
When I woke up, it was to find Logan on the other side of the bed. It was still full dark, but there was just enough moonlight in the room that I could see his face. He was staring at me, smiling, and he asked, “Do you still have that stupid, dorky gold gangsta chain that Gustavo bought us?”

I did. It was a gift after we went platinum. I think he wanted to buy us matching track suits too. 

“Somewhere,” I waved in the general direction of my closet. I’d left most of my BTR memorabilia here when I moved back to Minnesota. “Top shelf, maybe?”

Logan jumped out of bed, flicked on my bedside lamp, and I listened as he shuffled around inside my closet. 

“Why the sudden nostalgia kick?”

“I don’t know. I was thinking about the band and do you remember that stupid dance we had to do…“ His voice tapered off. He turned towards me, and I saw that he was clutching a note. “What’s this?”

I frowned at it. Two words on lined paper. 

_ I’m sorry. _

The handwriting was as familiar as my own. 

“It was where you said the necklace would be,” Logan explained. I sighed, head lolling back onto the bed. 

“James,” I said. 

“What do you- oh. You think he took it.” Logan frowned. “When would he have been able to do that, though? I mean, you keep an eye on him when he’s here, right?”

I stared at the ceiling and refused to say anything that would make Logan’s judgment harsher. 

“Right? You didn’t just let him walk around with free reign? He probably pawned the necklace, Kendall. You know that. To buy _drugs_.”

I shrugged, adamantly keeping my eyes on the ceiling. 

Yeah. I was kind of pissed that James had taken the chain, because even if it was an idiotic piece of jewelry I never wore, it was an idiotic piece of jewelry that meant something. To both of us. I remembered when Gustavo first told us that we’d made the big time. The way James had smiled. 

But at the same time, it really was _just_ an idiotic piece of jewelry. 

What I’d done to James, to Joseph, was so much worse than petty larceny. 

“Why would you do that?” Logan asked, his expression inscrutable. Even in the light of my lamp and the moon, half the room laid in darkness. All of the dips and curves in Logan’s face were cast in gray-gold, from the hollows of his cheekbones to the places where his smile dimpled to the arch of his eyebrows. 

I shrugged again, because he was a smart guy. I could tell from the furrow in his forehead that he’d already figured it out. 

“You- no. You’re not that stupid. I refuse to believe you’re that stupid.” 

“I’m that stupid,” I said quietly. “I’m really, really fucking stupid.” 

“Kendall, no. _James_? How could you-“

“I didn’t really have a choice,” I said, even though that wasn’t strictly true. 

I was used to thinking of my relationship with James like we were part of some kind of epic poem. Like fate had thrown us together with nothing else to cling to but each other. Because wasn’t that what it was, finding James again in that dark, seedy bar so long ago? Destiny? Wasn’t it all planned out that I would be his friend, his confidant? His lover? That I would gain his trust so that I could save him?

I’d done a real fantastic job of _that_. I snorted, disgusted with myself. 

“That’s why you couldn’t just let him go.”

“Logan. I wouldn’t ever let any of you go.”

“But James- you’ve always cared more about him. Now it makes sense.”

“I have _not_ ,” I protested, offended. 

“You kind of have. Not- it’s not that you ever paid more attention to him.”

“Then what?”

“He’s always gotten under your skin. I was the one who was always by your side, but James always managed to get to ruffle you.” Logan paused. “Sometimes, when I wanted you to look at me, I’d team up with him.”

“Logan-“ My eyes widened. 

“Not like that.” He laughed. “That kind of sounded like a love confession, didn’t it? I just meant that I was jealous. You were both my best friends. You both met through me. But- you always seemed to be more fascinated by each other.”

“Sorry,” I said, crossing my arms. I felt prickly and defensive. I’d never meant to make him feel that way. 

I saw Logan’s eyes follow the movement.

“What’s this bruise from? Logan poked my arm, the palest blue-yellow shade evident on the back of my bicep. 

“Your girlfriend,” I retorted. 

“What?”

“Camille got mad at me.”

“Oh. She hits hard.” 

“Yeah. You have a kink for violence, obviously.”

“Kendall!” Logan reddened. But then his face grew serious again and he asked, “Do you have any other bruises I should know about?”

It took me a minute to figure out what he was asking. 

“I’ve never done drugs.” 

“Are you sure?”

“Pretty damn sure.”

“Kendall.” Logan sat down on the bed beside me, tentative, like he was scared I would lash out at him. He pulled at my wrist, and I yanked back, refusing to let him touch me. I didn’t get how he could even begin to think I’d let myself get involved with that shit. 

“Kendall,” he said again, voice piercing something in my chest. 

I knew that he was just worried about me. Logan was never anything but kind and good and loyal, and he needed me to reassure him. I was highly insulted, yeah, but- I didn’t have a lot of control over my life right then. 

If I could show Logan that he could still trust me, even a little bit? I wanted to do it. 

“Fine. Here.” I growled, pushing my arm into his lap, letting it flop onto his thigh. 

Hesitantly, Logan twisted my wrist so that my palm was facing upwards. His hand smoothed over my skin, from my life line to the thin flesh of my wrist. He watched me with dark eyes to see if I’d flinch away from him. I didn’t. 

It was weird, having Logan touch me so intimately, even after the way we’d snuggled through the night. I was used to an easy arm over the shoulders or a casual fist bump. Not the way his fingertips slid up over my forearm, tracing the pattern of my veins. There was this innate sense of discomfort in the movement, because I wasn’t accustomed to people paying so much attention to my body unless they were trying to get me naked. 

Logan and I weren’t even remotely interested in each other that way, but at the same time, the way his fingertips pressed into my skin wasn’t even close to clinical. This was definitely not what he did with most of his patients. 

When he reached the crease of my elbow, I could see the way his eyes flickered shut in something like relief. He touched the skin there, soft, like he had to double check that his vision wasn’t playing tricks on him. 

“Other arm,” he ordered, choked. Obediently I turned my body so that he could reach, meeting him halfway. 

I let him inspect me all over for holes, for places he seemed to think that I could have been stupid enough to poison myself. After my arms it was my knees. I had to take off my jeans in this whole awkward process. It wasn’t like the locker rooms, where Logan would have been focused on getting himself changed. His eyes were centered on me the whole time, and I definitely wasn’t used to undressing for anyone without the intention to fuck. 

His hands moved up and down my legs, from my thighs to my ankles, and then lower, between my toes. I stood there, stoic, shivering in my air conditioned apartment, wondering if the uncomfortable feeling in my gut sprung from the knowledge that I’d scared Logan so damn much that this had to happen. 

When he was done, he collapsed back onto my bed, breathing deep. 

“Satisfied?”

“Immensely,” he said, finally cocking a smile my way. 

“Great.” I tried to make it sound biting, but mostly I just sounded fond. It was kind of nice. Being cared about. 

“So. I guess we need to get you checked out.”

“Checked out?” I echoed, confused. 

“For STIs.”

“What?” I blinked. 

“Dude, just because you haven’t been sticking needles in your arms doesn’t mean that you’re safe. I mean, I assume you’ve been using a con-“

My mind went blank. I couldn’t even hear the rest of what Logan said, because I already knew it. 

Because it was common sense. 

Because he’d sat through the same fifth grade health class I did, and the STD slideshow in high school, where we got to look at pictures of genital warts that looked vaguely like cauliflower. Jenny Tinkler had to puke in a trash can afterwards. 

My mind went blank because I knew, and I’d always known, that there were worse things out there than venereal diseases with funny names like the syph and the clap. Scary things that you could get from injecting a dirty needle in your arm or having unprotected sex. 

I bit down hard on my lip, unable to do more than wonder. James would know about that kind of thing, wouldn’t he? He would have told me. He wouldn’t have- he couldn’t have- 

A terrible thought struck me. I’d assumed Joseph had died of an overdose, but I hadn’t actually confirmed it. It had never even crossed my mind that there could have been a reason that he was so skinny, so fucking emaciated and sick, other than the drugs. And what if- 

James had fucked him. James had definitely shared needles with him. _What if_? It was like a mantra in my head. 

“Kendall? Kendall, dude. You’re freaking me out.”

Logan was waving his fingers in front of my face frantically, trying to get my attention. Great. I’d just gotten him to calm the hell down, and now I was hyperventilating in front of him. 

“Uh. Yeah. We should. There’s a clinic,” I said lamely, “I’ll make an appointment in the morning. I. Um. Yeah.” 

My hands were shaking. I clenched them in the sheets and tried not to worry.    


  
\---

  
I had a walk-in appointment with a local physician the next day. I sat in his waiting room, surrounded by white washed walls and dog-eared magazines, listening to a young couple fight about whether or not they were pregnant. There was an old woman with what looked like shingles flipping through an issue of Home and Garden, and a man silently thumbing through his iPhone. I wondered if any of them were there to find out if their lives were over. 

“Kendall Knight?” a smiling intern called, clutching a clip board and gesturing for me to follow her into a dimly lit room. She ran through a series of routine questions about my height and weight, checking my blood pressure and asking me whether or not I smoked. Then she asked, “And what’s the reason for your visit?”

Explaining was the most awkward thing I’ve ever done in my life. A serious-faced nurse came in twenty minutes later and drew my blood. I watched crimson flood the syringe and thought there must be a way to know. 

If I was dying, if something in my blood was killing me where I stood, I’d know. Wouldn’t I?   


  
\---

  
I spent the next three days kicking around my apartment, wondering if there was a way to speed up time. Katie came over twice with takeout. She told me disgusting stories about her sex life and ordered the premium channels on my television when I wasn’t looking. 

She never once asked me why I was sullen and silent. She didn’t hover like Logan tended to, wondering if I was on the verge of another nervous breakdown. 

She made sure I ate. She made sure I wasn’t alone. 

That was enough. 

No one found James. It was like he’d vanished off the face of the planet. 

I wondered if he hated me for killing Joseph. I didn’t blame him for it if he did. I had a constant wellspring of guilt about that myself, no matter what anyone said. Whenever I closed my eyes, I could see Joseph’s face, and the wounded look he’d worn the last time I’d seen him. And-

It didn’t really matter anymore to me if James hated me. 

I hated him. 

Every time I looked down at my forearms, at the blue lacework lines of my own veins, I felt it; anger quivering through my entire body. I blamed him for my own stupidity. 

More than anything, I hated him and me and the fucked up notion that whatever lay between us had maybe been love.    


  
\---

  
On the fourth day since my breakdown, Logan took me out to lunch. 

We were in the midst of a conversation about the Wild’s chances come spring when I cut him off mid sentence. 

“I’m scared.”

Logan’s eyes widened. He reached across the table, clutching at my hand and said, “He’ll turn up.”

I didn’t know how to tell him that James’s whereabouts had nothing to do with my fear. Not this time.   


  
\---

  
A few days later, I was on my way home from my mom’s house. We’d had a long talk. _Long_. And a little bit painful, but I mostly felt better for it. I didn’t tell her everything, but moms have that way about them. When she looked at me, I remembered feverish nights of chicken noodle soup and her palm against my forehead, and it almost made all of my bad thoughts vanish. 

Right up until I got to the front door of my building. 

Of course. It was kind of predictable. 

He sat against one of the walls, smelling like stale coffee and cigarettes and sex, and I found myself wondering what James had been doing for all this time. 

Mostly I was just grateful he wasn’t dead. 

I sat down beside him, carefully avoiding the embers of his cigarette. The sidewalk was filthy, but it was pretty much the last thing on my mind. James didn’t look at me, so I knocked my sneaker against one of his boots by way of greeting. And then I said, “I went to the doctor’s a few days ago.”

“Yeah?” James stared at a passing Buick, taillights gleaming red. 

“I had some tests done. An STD panel, and. Um.”

“Oh.”

“James, am I going to hear back from the doctor?”

“Don’t worry. You might be stupid, but I’m not,” James said tiredly. “Not when it comes to- you. I got checked out at the free clinic right after the club. When I- you know. I’m fine. You’re fine. We’re all fucking fine.”

He waved a finger in the air for sarcastic emphasis. My shoulders sagged in relief. I didn’t actually know what to feel. The terror that had been plaguing me all week didn’t exactly up and vanish, but I felt like I’d been attached to a puppeteer’s cords, wire wrapped around my muscles and keeping everything tight. At James’s words, it was like the strings had been cut. I could feel. I could breathe. 

I didn’t want to be so careless with my life ever again. As shitty as things got, I kind of wanted to see it all out to the end. I didn’t want to die until I was eighty nine, swinging on a porch in Minnesota with James and Logan and Carlos at my side. I had so much left to do. I had so much left to see. 

It was a little strange to think this thing between me and James had been going on long enough that he had time to get an HIV test back. 

Strange, but nice. It occurred to me in a vague, ironic way, that this was probably the longest relationship I’d had since Jo. 

I breathed deep and wondered if LA had always been so beautiful.

“Joseph’s not fine,” James muttered, and instantly, I felt awful again. 

“I’m sorry,” I told him quietly. 

“Which helps how?” He snapped. His hand, carefully balancing a cigarette, shook. “You shouldn’t have given him that CD. He was never supposed to know.”

“To know what, James? That you had fucking dreams? That you deserve more than life as a transient drug addict?” 

I could see from the way his mouth opened ever so slightly that he was shocked I would say that to him, but when he glanced at me out of the corner of his eyes, his gaze was hard. 

If I’d said that to him a few days ago, I would have gotten fireworks. Anger and denial and an explosion. Now he just accepted it and said, “Let it all out, why don’t you?”

I frowned at him. I hadn’t meant to say it, but now that I had, I wouldn’t apologize for it. He knew I’d been thinking it all along, anyway. He’d been accusing me of judging him right from the beginning. I guess I just hadn’t been able to accept that I really was doing what he said. That I really did care if he was basically homeless and trying to fry his own brain. I’d wanted to be chill. 

I didn’t want that anymore. I just wanted him to be safe. To be James. 

I watched as he took a long draw off of his cigarette, trying to drown in the smoke. And then, on the exhale, he said, “He was never supposed to know that he could have had more.”

“What?” I didn’t follow. At all. 

“Let me tell you a story.” His eyes went distant, guarded, sad. The sun was just beginning to set, but it wasn’t this huge, dramatic affair. It wasn’t anything but the last whimper of the light before nightfall. James watched it like it was full of blazing color. “When I quit my label, I saw Joseph. He was playing guitar on the corner outside the company. He’d gotten kicked out of the Palmwoods because he couldn’t hold down a job.”

Grief was etched in every line of his body, and I wanted to reach out to him, but James was rigid. He turned to me and continued, “It isn’t your fault, Kendall. It’s _mine_. It’s my fault that Joseph’s dead.”

“What? James, you can’t blame-“

“I was miserable. And he was miserable, even though he was trying so hard. He just couldn’t land a break. And I’d given mine up.” James exhaled, slate gray smoke from his lungs like a shape. “I offered to buy him a latte. And-“He bit his lip. “Then I took him into the bathroom and gave him his first line. It wasn’t Joseph who dragged me into this life. It was me who dragged him into it. And it killed him.”

I didn’t know how to respond. Since the day I’d first seen James again in that dirty, awful club with Guitar Dude at his side, I’d been blaming Joseph. I’d been wondering what was so fucking great about him that he’d been able to seduce James into this life. Even after hearing that he’d been doing the drugs before BTR disbanded, this huge part of me had credited Joseph as the reason he kept on doing them. 

I’d blamed him for so much, and I was wrong.

“If I’d gone back to that life- if I’d tried to get clean, I would have been able to give him whatever he wanted. A job. Fame. I had more connections than I needed. Instead I handed him a needle and gave him- what? A coffin,” James mused. 

“James- that’s not what Joseph thought when he heard the CD.”

“You know that? You’re qualified to tell me what he thought before he died?”

“No. But he didn’t care about getting _famous_.” I thought about Guitar Dude, about the way he’d been back at the Palmwoods. He’d never really seemed to care if he made it. He just wanted to make- “Music. He cared about making music, and you. The rest of it didn’t matter. He just wanted you to be happy. He wanted to be able to make you happy.”

“And what? Did you tell him that you were the one who _made me happy_?”

Shame colored my cheeks. 

James turned on me, shock coloring his expression. Rage simmered in his eyes, brighter than the embers of his cigarette. “You did, didn’t you? You little bitch. You think you can ever be enough for me? Ever?”

“I don’t know if anything will ever be enough for you,” I told him. “But I think you need to figure out what you’re willing to risk.”

“Risk?”

I took a deep breath and said, “Yeah.”

“Are you threatening me?”

I wasn’t scared of James. 

All the times he’d pushed me around, yeah, I’d been intimidated. But not because I was worried he would hurt me. Not even because he _had_ hurt me. It was his _anger_ that had made me shrink away; when he had his hands around my neck. When he had shoved me into my own goddamned kitchen counter. I’d been in countless brawls on the ice and off, bar fights and bullshit schoolyard rows. The amount of times I’d gotten into fistfights with James as a kid probably outnumbered my fingers and toes. But when he was high, when he was angry, I didn’t want to confront him because _I_ had a temper of my own. Because I knew he couldn’t defend himself if I let go. 

Fighting him was only ever going to make it worse. He was too fucked up to know when to stop. But this time I couldn’t help letting my anger rise. 

“Yeah. I’m threatening you. I’m done with your bullshit.”

“You promised you wouldn’t leave,” James said quietly, a little choked, like the words burned. 

I thought about my conversation with Logan, and about my dad. And then I told him, “There are worse things than being left.”

I took the cigarette from James, at a loss for something to do with my hands. I sucked in a breath, and then- 

“Make love to me,” James said. 

It was the last thing I was expecting. I choked on the cigarette, smoke caught in my lungs. 

“What?” I wheezed. 

He finally, painstakingly met my eyes for the first time since I’d approached him. He said, “I just need- you. I need you, Kendall.”

I didn’t need Logan to tell me it was a bad idea. But. 

Come on. Was I really supposed to say no to that? 

I wasn’t used to James mentioning much of our sex life out loud, but he’d never phrased it like that. Why would he? M _aking love_ didn’t really describe what we’d done in the past. 

The closest we’d come to it was that first night, when I let James fuck me, and to be honest, I’d sort of taken it for granted that it was a onetime deal. When I let him into my apartment, I didn’t really know what to expect. 

It certainly wasn’t to be undressed in this slow, impersonal manner. James barely even touched my skin while he divested me of my shirt and pants, but somehow he still managed to make every movement more intense. When his hands bumped up against my elbow or my knee, I trembled.

I was so sure he _hated_ me. I still resented him for so much. 

I hadn’t really thought I’d ever have this again. 

But he was barely even focusing on me, which was a problem. I watched as James stepped out of his jeans in the near darkness of my room, and then I grabbed him close, crushing our mouths together, kissing him like maybe I wouldn’t get another chance. He made this wounded noise, and I didn’t want to pull back. I didn’t want to see if it was because the kiss turned him on or if it made him sadder. 

He pushed me back onto my bed, stretching himself as we went, and I couldn’t think. It was happening too fast, and I hadn’t even seen if he’d actually reached for the lube, and he smelled like sex. When I’d first walked up to him on the street, he’d smelled like-

I watched James hover over my hips, feeling weirdly vulnerable. 

It wasn’t the first time I’d fucked him in the past few weeks, but the method seemed more intimate, somehow. He wasn’t slow about it, but he was almost lazy in the way he stretched himself with his own fingers, in the way he rolled a condom on my cock and then painstakingly lowered himself onto my dick until I had to reach out and push him down, grip bruising on his hips. I let go once he rocked down once, twice, setting a rhythm that wasn’t quite fast enough. My hands skimmed over bone, trying to guide him. 

He batted me away, slowing down until I grabbed at him again, fingers digging into his skin, trying to get him to fucking _move_. And then, with the palest imitation of a grin quirking his lips, he did, and all I could focus on was the way he felt around me, the tight hot heat of his ass and how fucking sexy he was going to look with my cum inside him. 

I didn’t know and I didn’t care about what he thought of me anymore. I just wanted him to keep it up, to keep thrusting up into him when he came down onto me, unyielding and electric and pressing all around my dick. I barely even realized how intently he was watching my face until I came, and in that moment I could see it all laid bare. 

The good and the bad and how they overwhelmed each other, all captured behind my eyelids; and I couldn’t even think about it because I was too busy riding through my own orgasm. 

I thought about it later, though. Fuck. It was all I ever thought about after what happened next.    


  
\---

  
James had fled my apartment like the hounds of hell were at his feet, and I hadn’t expected to see him again so soon. Which is why I was kind of shocked when the knock at my door around three am turned out to be him. 

“James?” I blinked sleep out of my eyes, and that was a freaky new sensation, _sleep_. Even with all my guilt over Joseph and all my confusion about the future, unloading to Logan had been a panacea for my insomnia. My sleep cycle wasn’t perfect yet, but I’d at least been able to get a few hours in before James had stumbled up to my door. 

And he had definitely stumbled. 

“I don’ like alcohol,” James slurred, slumping heavily into my arms, “Worst way to get- ugh. Worst. Absolute worst.”

It may have been the worst, but that hadn’t stopped James from downing a whole lot of it. He smelled like a brewery. 

“You should-“ I shifted, trying to get a better grip on him. “You need to sleep this off.”

“Dunno if that’s such a good idea,” James said, staring up at me. His eyes were droopy, pupils huge. He craned up to kiss me, but missed, mouth a wet brush against my chin. And then he said, “Pills.” 

I frowned at him, because what kind of explanation was that? And then what he’d meant sunk in. 

“James. James, what kind of pills?”

James made a noncommittal noise. “You’re pretty. S’not fair that you’re still- so pretty.”

He slumped down further, his weight nearly making me fall to my knees. 

“James, what kind of pills?” I realized that didn’t necessarily matter. I tried, “How many did you take?”

“Bottle,” James mumbled, but he didn’t elaborate. 

“ _James_?” 

He wasn’t answering. His eyes were squeezed shut, and I couldn’t tell if he was sleeping or passed out. 

There was only one place I could think of going. 

Logan was staying at this upscale hotel downtown. He’d been offered Carlos’s guest bedroom multiple times, but he refused for fear of intruding on the lovebirds. Now I knocked violently on his door until he opened it, bleary eyed and half naked and-

“Kendall?”

“I need help,” I said, pushing James onto Logan. Logan stared at me, eyes wide and accusing. 

“You brought him here?”

“He- he drank. A lot. Um. And he might have- I don’t know if he. There were pills. He said there were pills.”

“Why did you bring him here? This _isn’t_ a hospital.” 

“But you’re a doctor.”

“I’m a _pediatric surgeon_. I don’t deal with- _this_. Kendall, we need to call an ambulance.”

“Don’t bother.” My head snapped up, and I was shocked to see Camille standing behind Logan. Wearing a fluffy hotel robe. 

I was completely blindsided. 

“Um,” I said, feeling particularly intelligent for that bit of insight. 

“I’ll drive.” Camille dangled keys from her index finger. I glanced at Logan, who was struggling to hold James up. I could see the way panic welled in his throat, but for once it wasn’t at the prospect of Camille’s road rage.

Weirdly enough, I was completely calm. 

It was like this was something I’d been waiting for all along, since the very moment I’d figured out James was using. 

Like I’d always known that he was going to try to kill himself.    


\---

  
I listened to the beep of the heart monitor, my head in my hands. 

“Kendall. You need to go home.”

“I can’t.” 

“What?”

“I promised him I wouldn’t leave.”

“You need sleep. James will understand. You don’t owe him anything.” Logan paused and then tacked on, “Not anymore.”

“No. I promised.” I took a deep breath, finally admitting the one thing I was so scared of out loud, “I love him, and I’m not going to leave him alone.”

No matter what crazy things he did.

He was fine, by the way. 

Except for the whole bit where he had to get his stomach pumped. I’d spent a couple of hours sprawled across a row of hospital chairs, wondering when the doctors were inevitably going to come tell me that James was dead, but no. He was _fine_. 

He was passed out sleeping and it was near five in the morning, and I couldn’t keep my eyes away from his pale, sweaty face. The panic that had been missing earlier was beginning to set in. Every time I tried to close my eyes, I felt terror well up in my chest. Like if I did, James would run off and fuck himself up again and again and again until that horrible dream I’d had after Joseph’s death came true. 

If I left, I felt for sure that really would happen. I knew that Logan couldn’t understand, because Logan was a normal, functioning human being. When people like him heard the words abandonment issues, they thought it was some kind of, I don’t know. Melodramatic overreaction. 

He didn’t understand what it was like to grow up wondering what you’d done wrong. 

Why you always seemed to make people leave. 

Why your own parents didn’t love you enough to stay, to play with you in the afternoon or tuck you in at night. 

He didn’t understand what it was like to let yourself trust someone completely, only to have them shatter you. Again and again and again. He could never understand how hard it was when you grew up like that. What it was like to open back up to a person knowing that they would probably hurt you all over again. 

I did. 

My dad didn’t just _leave_ , when I was a kid. He left and called. He made promises. He gave me hope. And then he reneged on it, time and time again. And yeah, I had my mom. She was amazing. But she was always working. Intellectually, I knew the reasons she couldn’t come to every single hockey game. I knew why I had to be dropped at a babysitter after school instead of going straight home like the other kids. But knowing didn’t make it hurt any less. 

When you’re seven years old, you want your parents. If they’re not there, no matter what the reason, it fucks you up. 

After a while, I had to force myself to pretend that I didn’t care anymore. I fooled everyone into believing it. But the truth was that it was this open, gaping wound on my heart that would never heal. I’d always have this secret, awful fear that I was never going to measure up to anyone’s expectations. And it wasn’t just an occasional insecurity. It was constant. It was real. I was damaged. 

James was the same way. 

This wasn’t the first time we’d had this discussion through the night. We’d had it once before the doctors told us James would be okay. Once before Camille went back to her apartment. Once after she left. And now. 

Logan seemed to think if I left James completely it would compel him to get clean, because normal people are capable of clearly seeing that absence is a consequence of an action, not a judgment of a person’s personality. 

I wasn’t normal. 

James wasn’t normal. 

Even if he knew on a surface level that I was trying to teach him a lesson, his subconscious would interpret it as one more deficit in his character. I couldn’t do that to him. Because I promised. Because promises had weight. If I broke that promise, I didn’t know if James would survive it. 

But at the same time, Logan was right. I _couldn’t_ tolerate the drugs any longer. Not after what had happened to Joseph. I’d read somewhere that substance abuse was like gradual suicide. Now I knew it was true. I couldn’t stay and watch James die. 

My choices were hurting him or watching him hurt himself. 

“I still owe him a lot of things,” I finally said, thinking about Joseph and the pain I’d caused. “I’m sorry. You can go home, if you want.”

“You’re _sorry_?” 

I blinked, a little put off by the vehemence in his voice. “Yes? Do you forgive me?” 

Logan frowned at me. “Do you know why criminals always seem to find Jesus in jail?”

I was more than a little confused by the sudden change in topic. 

“Lack of better things to do?” 

“People are obsessed with the idea of forgiveness. Especially when they can’t forgive themselves. I don’t need an apology, Kendall. Neither does James.”

“I know that, okay?”

And I did. I’d spent the better part of the past two months letting Carlos and Logan and even James explain things to me; things that as an adult, I probably already should have known. About myself. About the world. I didn’t need any more lessons force fed down my throat. I wasn’t going to let anyone else fight my battles for me. Not anymore. 

So I made a decision, right then and there. 

I just wasn’t sure if it was the _right_ decision. 

“Give me some time, Logan.” I clenched James’s pale, limp hand. “Just- I need some time.”   


  
\---

  
James didn’t wake up until the following afternoon. 

He didn’t look surprised to see me. I’d already become this _expected_ presence in his life. But he definitely didn’t expect it when the first words I said were, “You can’t do this to yourself anymore.”

He croaked, “Are you going to stop me?”

“No.” I shook my head. “If I could, I would. But I’m not going to stand around and watch you die, James. I won’t.”

“You’re not serious.” His voice was gravely, dry; but not apathetic. He was trying to pretend he wasn’t interested in what I had to say, but I could tell that he was a little bit scared. 

And he had every right to be. 

I wasn’t lying when I told James that there were worse things than being abandoned. It wasn’t a large list, but- I knew firsthand that it hurt more to stand next to the person you love and watch them destroy themselves. 

And then there was a simpler, more poignant pain. Like standing next to the person you love without being able to actually have them. 

I didn’t know for sure what it was that James felt about me. I didn’t know for sure if he could really feel anything for me, other than overwhelmed. But when I tried to think of the worst thing that James could do, other than die on me, it was this. 

“We’re done,” I told him. 

“Kendall, you can’t. You said-“

“I said I wouldn’t leave,” I told him, “And I won’t. You and I are going to be friends for a long time-“

“You think I want you to be my _friend_?” He demanded, outraged. 

“No. But it’s not like you have anyone else.” He looked more injured by those words than I had any of the times he’d hurt me physically. He looked more injured than I ever had. “No more late night visits. No more sex. We’re not going to be- like that, anymore.”

“I’m not agreeing to that.”

“It’s not like I’m giving you a choice.” 

“Kendall. Don’t. Please.” Panic crept into his voice. “ _Please_.” 

I watched him for a few seconds before turning to leave the room. 

He yelled after me, “Kendall. Don’t. Don’t fucking do this, Kendall-“

I closed the door, and even then, I could hear him screaming my name, still half-high and broken. I slumped down against the door, arms wrapping around my knees and waited, even though it hurt. Even though I didn’t want this, did not, could not want this. 

If the only way for us to survive this was for us to be apart, I wanted to run straight back to Minnesota. But I couldn’t. 

No more running. Because I promised that I wouldn’t leave. 

No matter what.    


\---

 

 


	25. Shut Your Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Future!Fic. Kendall returns to L.A. six years after Big Time Rush disbanded. James has been missing for years. Imagine how things change when James reappears in his life. And he needs help.

**Title:** Shut Your Eyes  
 **Authors:**  [](http://goten0040.livejournal.com/profile)[ **goten0040**](http://goten0040.livejournal.com/)   and [](http://garnetice.livejournal.com/profile)[ **garnetice**](http://garnetice.livejournal.com/)    
 **Chapter:** 25  
 **Rating:** M  
 **Ship(s):** Kendall/James, Carlos/Stephanie, Logan/Camille, maybe more.  
 **Summary:** Future!Fic. Kendall returns to L.A. six years after Big Time Rush disbanded. James has been missing for years. Imagine how things change when James reappears in his life. And he needs help.  
 **Previous Chapters:**[1](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/852.html#cutid1), [2](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1274.html), [3](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1511.html#cutid1), [4](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1554.html#cutid1), [5](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1996.html#cutid1), [6](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2234.html), [7](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2308.html#cutid1), [8](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2649.html), [9](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2935.html#cutid1), [10](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/3210.html), [11](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/3342.html#cutid1), [12](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/3705.html#cutid1), [13](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/3896.html#cutid1), [14](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/4461.html#cutid1), [15](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/4834.html#cutid1), [16](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/4876.html#cutid1), [17](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/5215.html), [18](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/5571.html#cutid1), [19](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/5870.html#cutid1), [20](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/5966.html#cutid1), [21](http://oursecretspace.livejournal.com/6166.html#cutid1), [22](http://oursecretspace.livejournal.com/6876.html#cutid1), [23](http://oursecretspace.livejournal.com/6978.html#cutid1), [24](http://oursecretspace.livejournal.com/7403.html#cutid1)

Chapter Twenty-Five

“I don’t know if this is such a good idea.”

“Please, you were born on the ice. Don’t act like you don’t love it.”

I wasn’t so sure as I laced up my skates half-heartedly, eyes glancing over the white sheet through the plexi-glass, the nets on either end, ready to catch a flying puck in a matter of seconds.

When Carlos had an idea, he went for it. It didn’t take us long to figure that out. After all, he was the one that had a rap sheet at the local hospital when we were young. He was danger prone and lived life to the extreme and loved it. And he had plenty of scars and broken bones to prove it. I remembered one just above his tailbone that had been my fault. He had insisted that I jump from the treehouse in Logan’s back yard when we were nine years old. That turned into a fight which turned into me pushing him out of the treehouse. I was grounded for two weeks. But Carlos walked funny for four so it was completely worth it.

But he wanted me to get back on the ice. And it wasn’t like I was just rearing to go after what I’d been through. My body still felt a little shaky and wobbly at the thought of it, and the fact that James was still in the hospital with Camille hovering at his bedside didn’t make me feel better.

But it had to be done. I was still around. But I couldn’t linger around him for too long at a time. Because even though his heart was probably hurting at the prospect of not having me, it wasn’t any easier for me to feel the same. I was angry at him, but that didn’t mean I didn’t want to maul him to death right there in that hospital bed. No one made me feel the way he did. I wasn’t about to deny that on any terms. But that was the point. He was toxic. And until he wasn’t anymore, I had to focus on me.

Which had brought Carlos to the miraculous conclusion that we should play hockey.

“We don’t have a fourth,” I tried hesitantly as Carlos plopped a helmet on my head, donning his signature black one that had scuffs and scrapes and age all over it.

“Dude, you’re a pro. If you can’t take down the two of us, you’re slipping.”

I couldn’t help but think of the sound of my hockey stick hitting the ice after that guy had attacked me. I couldn’t help but think that that moment had, in a way, started this entire thing, brought me back to L.A., back to James…

I wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or not, because my heart was still hurting, and my mind was still reeling over the fact that Joseph was dead.

“Come on, Kendall! All that time in the pro locker room turned you into a girl? Finish lacing up!”

Logan punched Carlos in the arm. Carlos always did lack tact. Not that I was offended. I actually felt a little robotic, like all my feelings had just shut down. Or more like melted down. I’d been overwhelmed so much in the past days, I suppose they needed to rest.

When I skidded out on the ice, I took a breath, the puff of steam sliding from my lips looking so much like the smoke from James’ cigarettes. And for a second, the entirety of the past weeks, months, washed over and overwhelmed me. And I thought _I can’t do this._

But then the puck was sliding across the ice and I was chasing it like my life depended on it.

It was all a blur from then on. I was at home, in my element, on the ice. I could feel it in the slide of my skates, the hiss of them against the ice, the sweat chilling on my forehead as I moved with as much speed as I could. I felt the animal within me, creeping out of his cage, ready for war, and really, Carlos and Logan didn’t stand a chance. Carlos had always been quick on the ice, the right man for the job in slipping pucks away from other teams without being noticed, and he was never afraid to take chances. Logan was the one that strategized, the one that could outthink the other teams – but he was slower, because he was sometimes too caught up in thought to process it completely. James was good, because he committed to everything he did. Years of trying to reach the level of perfection set by his mother had made him a hell of a hockey player, but I couldn’t help but think it had added to the crumbling heap he became. Me? I was brutal, plain and simple. I did whatever I could to get the goal. Go big time. That was the point, wasn’t it?

Slapshot after slapshot after slapshot, I felt it burning more in my gut. Rage. I saw images of my father, of James, of fucking Joseph, of that bastard that had hit me, of it all, and I couldn’t stop my blood from boiling, the clench of my stomach, the rawness in my throat as I wailed on that puck like it was a skull that needed smashing. It was like I could see the blood running down the ice, over my skates, into my soul. I was crying and laughing and coming and singing and everything all at once. And I was screaming, a battlecry, like I wasn’t going to _fucking take it anymore,_ and it was all over.

Carlos and Logan weren’t even playing by the end of it, just standing at the sidelines with terrified looks on their faces as I released the beast all over the ice and ended up leaning against the net, my chest heaving.

“Dude…” Carlos started, but couldn’t seem to think of anything else to say.

I saw the worried look Logan was giving me, but, to be honest, I felt better. My air coming out of me in puffs, I hadn’t felt so exhilarated in my life. I threw my hockey stick down on the ice, gliding over to them, and I couldn’t take the smile off my face. How the hell I’d ever walked away from it felt like a distant memory. A part of me wanted to shatter into little pieces, flop over Logan and Carlos and cry until I couldn’t anymore, but the other part was excited, agile, ready to go. Things felt like maybe, just maybe, they could get better.

I can honestly say it was the best I’d felt in a long time. And I knew that there was no way in hell I couldn’t continue to play hockey. Absolutely no way.

I think the best part about the revelation was that I knew that I hadn’t just been running away. Maybe I had at least been running toward something. I just hadn’t realized it at the time. I’d been so caught up in _not_ getting caught up in anything, that I’d numbed myself to my experiences. To avoid hurting when leaving my friends, I had avoided any joy I got out of _why_ I left in the first place.

I had broken down, and I had pieced myself back together for the most part. I was laid bare, raw, on the ice, and it was new, and it was scary, and it was good.

I could do this.

“You okay?” Logan asked, putting a hand on my back as I breathlessly made my way to the edge of the ice.

“Y-yeah. Yeah. I’m okay,” I gasped, flopping down on a bench and yanking my helmet off. My hair was sticking to my forehead, and my lungs were burning from the agility, and my hands were shaking around my helmet. Adrenaline was a hell of a drug. I thought I might want to re-introduce James to it. But knowing how he’d been, he’d end up jumping out of airplanes, and I wanted to save his life, not giving him other ways to destroy it.

We left the ice after a bit and Carlos insisted he treat us to dinner. We slipped into a pizza place and had our fill of cheesy goodness and beer until we were particularly sated.

“So, how’s James?” Carlos asked after a bit, offhandedly but a little worriedly. I swallowed down the rest of the beer in my mug. He really did lack tact, but again, I wasn’t offended.

“He’ll be okay,” I said, munching on a breadstick. I was far from hungry but I wanted something to do with my mouth because I wasn’t sure if the statement was truthful, and I didn’t want to admit that.

“How about you? How are you doing?” Logan asked, flipping through the dessert menu for something to satisfy his sweet tooth.

I liked that we were more casual about it. It didn’t feel so heavy, so scary anymore, because it had all been laid out in front of them.

“I’m… I’ll be okay,” I said. I was surer of that, at least for the time being. If James wasn’t okay, I couldn’t make any guarantees.

“That’s good to hear,” Logan said, and it was genuine and sweet and relieved. “Very good to hear.”

“You know what else is good?” I asked.

“What?”

“The fact that Carlos is getting the check. I want to be miserable by the end of the meal. Let’s get dessert.”

…

James was pissed. He had talked to three of the hospital shrinks and told them he wasn’t interested in what they had to say before they finally let him leave. I came to pick him up, and it was… awkward, to say the least. He didn’t say a word to me when he dropped into the seat, his jaw set, eyes glossy. He’d gone a couple of days without a hit, and it was clear he was already really strung out over the withdrawal.

“I got you a place to stay.” I asked absently, but knowing there was a fight lingering, but ready for it.

“I don’t give a fuck,” James croaked, his arms crossed, leaning against the passenger side window. Then, “Why the fuck did you come pick me up anyway?”

“Because I’m your friend and I’m going to be here for you.”

“Fuck you.”

I kept my eyes on the street. James pulled his knees up to his chest.

“This isn’t fair,” he finally said, his voice just short of a childish whine.

“Life isn’t fair,” I replied a bit gruffly, turning a corner, destination in mind.

James punched me hard in the arm, and it was all I could do to keep the steering wheel from swerving me into opposing traffic. I mused that it would be probably close to symmetrical to the bruise Camille had left on my other arm.

“Stop it. Stop being a dick.”

“Stop being a druggie.”

James looked beyond offended, wounded. He shut up though, for the rest of the ride.

Until we pulled up outside of Carlos’ large house.

“Kendall. What the fuck.”

“This is where you’re going to stay. We’ve got you a room and everything. Now get out.”

I put the car in park and stepped out, opening James’ door and offering my hand. James stared at it like something foreign, like he hadn’t casually groped my dick. Then he shoved me aside and walked quickly into the house. I shrugged and followed behind.

“I packed up a few things for you. There’s clothes, and you can shower, and—“

“I’m _not_ staying here.” James whirled on me so quickly I nearly had to take a step back because we were nose-to-nose.

I smirked at him, having already prepared for the conversation, and put my hands on his shoulders.

“Yes. You are. Because if you don’t, we will happily call the police, and you can sleep in jail instead.”

James stared at me like I had slashed a knife across his throat. “You’re not fucking serious.”

I nodded. “I am.” I knew to him it had to feel harsh, but… I just couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t watch him kill himself, and I knew that would be exactly what he would do. So I vowed he would get clean – whether it was rehab, Carlos’ house, or jail – he would do it.

James shoved me. “You are _not_ going to tell me how to run my life. I will come and go as I please.”

“You have that option,” I said simply. “But it also includes jail. So it’s up to you.”

“You know what? Go ahead. Fucking call them.”

“I will.” I pulled out my cell phone and waved it in front of his face. “I’ll also tell them where your hangouts are, and they sure as hell will find something to nab you on possession.”

“What… what the fuck do you want from me?! To be a prisoner?!”

“No. I want you to be clean. I want you to be safe and happy and okay.”

“Well, good for fucking you,” James hissed. “I’m none of those.”

I was starting to get a little irritated. We were just standing on Carlos’ stoop like we were talking about the weather, and frankly, James should have known how things were gonna be. And the worst part was, this wasn’t a kiss-and-make-up situation. As much as I wanted to shove him into the wall and push my tongue down his throat, I couldn’t. Even though I knew he would let me.

“Don’t do this, James. Don’t do this, please.”

James glowered. “ _You_ did this. _You_ did.”

“No I didn’t!” We were full-on arguing now, in each other’s faces, fists clenched, and testosterone flowing. “ _You’re_ the one that got wasted. _You’re_ the one that overdosed. _You’re_ the one that’s got the fucking problem now because I’m _fixing_ mine. GET ON BOARD.”

I yanked the door open and pushed James inside.

It hurt. It hurt wondering whether or not we could last as friends after being lovers. It hurt wondering if we would ever love again. No, that was a poor choice of words. Looking at him, even with him so enraged, so hurt, so lost, I still loved him. Emotionally, it was all I could stand. Physically, it was worse. Like quitting cold turkey. I guess I understood a little. He was addicted to drugs. I was addicted to him.

“Hey James…” the greeting was timid as Logan descended the stairs, Stephanie on his heels.

James was at a loss of what to say, his eyes scanning Stephanie like _when the hell did my friend become a dad-to-be_. Then I remembered that he hadn’t been seeing them as regularly as I had, even when we were fucking nightly.

Carlos and Camille were rounding the corner shortly after and James looked more like a caged animal. Feral, and ready to strike.

“How are you doing?” Camille asked. James looked at least a little more at ease with her – she had spent some time with him when he was in the hospital.

“Shitty. How about you, Camille?” James asked in a sing-song voice, dripping with sarcasm.

She hugged him, patting him gently on the shoulder, and I heard her whispering to him:

“We just want what’s best for you, James.”

James’ eyes flashed from a greenish gold to a blue-gray, and he hugged her back lethargically. “You don’t know.”

“Neither do you, honey.”

James calmed down, but went to his “room” and simmered for a while. I could feel longing puling at me, but I restrained myself, as much as it hurt, knowing it was for the best.

“Are you sure you want to stay here?” Carlos asked. “With James?”

“I said I’d stay.”

“Great!” Carlos said. “It’ll be like we’re all together again.”

Except it wouldn’t be. Things were different.

…

James tried to sneak out. I slept on the couch to make sure he didn’t, and ended up tackling him in the foyer, limbs tangling and fists flying. James was in a frenzy, kicking, scratching, and biting – anything to get away. But he was also shaking so hard he could hardly make impact, and his eyes were wild. His hands went for my throat and I batted them away, and we tangled and fought and rolled into a wall.

“K-Kendall, _please,_ ” James was begging, his voice sounding strange and foreign in my ears. “It’s been _days._ I _need_ it.”

“No,” I growled, pinning his arms down by his head, glaring at him. “You’re not going anywhere.”

He stared me down with a look that I could only consider smoldering. And there was an urge in the back of my neck to kiss him. But I didn’t.

James spit in my face. He took advantage of my flinch and ran out the door.

I chased him as far as I could, but he got away.

“FUCK!” I yelled, not caring if I woke the neighbors.

…

I called him probably a million times, but he never answered. And in a way, I didn’t expect him to. But I kept thinking of my dream, his corpse in front of me, and it made me sick to my stomach. There was an explosion of feelings in my chest: fear, sorrow, worry, and most of all anger. I was angry that he couldn’t make the effort. I was angry that he was basically choosing the drugs over me.

But then… that wasn’t it at all. He wasn’t choosing them over me. I had revoked his privileges of me. I wondered if that was a bad idea. I was only leaving more for James to jones for. Then again, there was no guarantee that he actually cared about me. The drugs did some crazy things to his brain, and he’d been high almost every time we’d been together – and if I was honest with myself, it was likely he’d been high even the times I was sure he wasn’t. Because I wanted him to be okay. I wanted everything to be great. I wanted to think that the fact that I loved him healed him.

He had told me he needed me too. The night that he overdosed.

I wasn’t enough.

My confidence started to waver.

I didn’t know if I would ever be enough. Joseph hadn’t been enough. His friends hadn’t been enough. Really, why was I any different?

I didn’t know if he would come back either. I sat on the stoop and waited and waited and waited, my heart aching more with each passing hour. I kept thinking of his corpse in that casket, a feverish, white-hot blur in my dreams, and of him on top of me, writhing and groaning and in rhythm to my thrusts when we, as he put it, _made love_. I thought of the day I left.

James had been quite supportive the morning I left, though I could feel the tension behind his voice when he bid me goodbye.

“Stay safe, okay?” he had said.

I didn’t think it would be an issue. “You too.”

He didn’t follow his own orders. He didn’t follow mine. I remembered his hands on me when he hugged me goodbye, his face in my neck, the heat of it there. I didn’t know then that he would kiss there. I didn’t know then that the skin there would be purpled with bruises of all his doing, that his teeth would sink in there while he roughly did me against a wall.

God. Everything was so simple back then.

And he was gone again. I could feel the panic in my bones, the tightness in my chest. The not-knowing.  
But there was something else. Something sick and distasteful in my mouth and leaking down into my stomach.

Lethargy. If he didn’t care about me… if he wanted to get wasted, who the fuck was _I_ to stop him? If he wanted to go out there and die, why should _I_ care? It wasn’t like he’d been a staple in my life for years before then.

Then I started crying and couldn’t get myself to stop, which was weird, because I didn’t think I had any tears left in me. Apparently I had a lot. I leaned against the side of the veranda and sobbed into my hands.

Camille came walking out when the sun was rising, in a camisole and a pair of shorts that allowed her slim legs to hang out of. It was a little chilly, but she sat next to me anyway.

“You okay?”

“James is gone,” I said, and my voice was croaky and raw from the tears.

She held my hand in hers, a simple but odd gesture from the usually rough-touching Camille. “I know… this is really hard for you.”

We watched a car slowly glide down the street and disappear into the distance.

“You know… I ran into James… a couple of years ago.”

I jolted at her words, turning to her so quickly I was fairly sure my neck would snap. She grimaced.

“I didn’t tell anyone… I didn’t want to.”

“Why?” I asked. “Why, Camille? What if…”

She shook her head. “He didn’t want help then either. Believe me on that. It was… weird. He was so different. I think it was when he first got on the harder stuff… well, then the stuff we know he was using before.”  
Heroin. She’d met James when he’d met heroin.

“I’ll admit that I had my suspicions back at the Palm Woods that he was using. Enough kids had run through there with drug problems that I could recognize the signs.” She sighed. “When he… when things started to change, I noticed him getting more jittery. He was walking around like he was walking on fucking sunshine or something. I… I confronted him about it. It was one night after you guys got back from practice. He stayed in the lobby for a long time, scribbling in this black notebook. And I had just gotten back from shooting a commercial and run into him. He told me to mind my own business.” She ran her hands through her hair, the brown curls slipping through her fingers with ease. “That’s when I knew. People… people aren’t secretive with their friends unless they have something they’re ashamed of.”

I watched her, completely entranced, feeling like I was getting a little light on some of the shadows of James’ life. And to hear it from someone who hadn’t known him nearly as long or nearly as intimately as I had… it was rough.

“I didn’t have any proof though. I hoped he’d get his senses, and he seemed to for a little bit. He really did. After you left, he threw himself into his work and everything seemed to be going fine. Then… he just disappeared.”

“And you found him.”

“Yeah, in the back room of a bar a few years later. But he wasn’t himself. He was so… dirty and grimy and strung out. I don’t think he even realized it was me. I was trying not to cry and holding his head in my hands and he was just lolling against me and looking at me with this strange look in his eyes.” She shook her head, the memory playing on her face, drawing lines on it that made her look older. We were all older. “Then these people told me to get away from him. This guy with… green hair… he shoved me out of the place, and this girl with blonde hair kept screaming at me and calling me a whore – she was flying too, I think – and…” Her voice trailed away.

“Joseph was there too,” I finished.

And I felt like we were alone in the world, the only ones with any insight to the dirty side of James’ life, the only ones that knew what was actually going on. No blinders, no rose-colored glasses. We were the only ones in the reality of James’ addiction. She nodded, and her eyes welled with tears.

“He looked so scared. I just… he looked so _scared._ ”

I put an arm around her and held her close, my head spinning, my own eyes watering again.

“You… uh…” she sniffed. “You wanna go look for him? Call the cops?”

I shook my head. “No…” My voice was almost a whisper. I think he knew all along that my threat was an empty one.

What was the point? He’d just run away again. I wouldn’t be able to save him until he wanted to be saved. I rubbed at my eyes. Even when I was catching up on my sleep, I was still so fucking tired. I was just fucking tired of it all, waiting on him to come through. Tired of wanting things to be okay. Tired of trying to make things better and failing.

I didn’t know what to do next. I kind of wanted to pack my shit and go right back to Minnesota, but I couldn’t. I didn’t know if I could ever go back to Minnesota, even with its glorious ice and snow, its cold winters and non-blistering summers, where the heat wouldn’t fry my brain and my heart would only hurt because I was far from my friends, not because I was aware that something devastating was going on.

“Let’s go inside, honey,” she cooed, running her hand up and down my back. “Maybe he’ll come back.”

Maybe.

I fucking hated that word.

…

James _did_ come back. I don’t know what surprised me more – that he was alive or that he was sobbing, but he came bursting through the door while we were all staring at each other across the breakfast table, no one really eating, but everyone really worrying. He nearly stumbled into my arms, his eyes wide and black and desperate.

“I can’t—I can’t do it. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t do it.”

I wish I hadn’t been so rough with him, but I pushed him into the wall. “What did you take? Answer me.”

He choked on a sob, tears leaking down the sides of his nose, mixing with blood there. I didn’t even realize until then that his nose was bleeding.

“Coke? James, did you do Coke?”

I heard the clink of a plate on the table and I looked over to see Carlos with his head in his hands. Stephanie pulled him into her arms, and I could see the tears on his face. Carlos had always been the more innocent one of the group – extreme, but innocent. He hadn’t been shit on by the world, not like the rest of us. He wasn’t built to handle his best friend on drugs, sobbing, with blood on his face.

But it was the look on James’ face that broke my heart. Watching Carlos break down… seeing his friends’ pale faces staring at them.

I knew that look. I’d gotten that look mere days ago, even though it felt like centuries. I knew what kind of thoughts crossed his mind when he saw people like that, the misery.

“Don’t do this,” I whispered to him, my hands shaking. “Don’t do this anymore. Please… please get help, James.”

At that point, I knew. I _knew_ that no matter what we were, friends, lovers, or nothing, that he had to get help. That he was still in there. And I’d already decided I wasn’t running.

Maybe he’d decided that too.

“James… please…”

James buried his head in my neck. Like when we’d said goodbye. And I could feel the sticky blood on my skin, leaking into my shirt, another mark of his impact on my life. His nails dug into my back, and I held him.

“Help… me…” he whimpered.  



	26. Shut Your Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Future!Fic. Kendall returns to L.A. six years after Big Time Rush disbanded. James has been missing for years. Imagine how things change when James reappears in his life. And he needs help.

**Title:** Shut Your Eyes  
 **Authors:** [](http://goten0040.livejournal.com/profile)[**goten0040**](http://goten0040.livejournal.com/) and [](http://garnetice.livejournal.com/profile)[**garnetice**](http://garnetice.livejournal.com/)  
 **Chapter:** 26  
 **Rating:** M  
 **Ship(s):** Kendall/James, Carlos/Stephanie, Logan/Camille, maybe more.  
 **Summary:** Future!Fic. Kendall returns to L.A. six years after Big Time Rush disbanded. James has been missing for years. Imagine how things change when James reappears in his life. And he needs help.  
 **Previous Chapters:**[1](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/852.html#cutid1), [2](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1274.html), [3](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1511.html#cutid1), [4](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1554.html#cutid1), [5](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/1996.html#cutid1), [6](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2234.html), [7](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2308.html#cutid1), [8](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2649.html), [9](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/2935.html#cutid1), [10](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/3210.html), [11](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/3342.html#cutid1), [12](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/3705.html#cutid1), [13](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/3896.html#cutid1), [14](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/4461.html#cutid1), [15](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/4834.html#cutid1), [16](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/4876.html#cutid1), [17](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/5215.html), [18](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/5571.html#cutid1), [19](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/5870.html#cutid1), [20](http://community.livejournal.com/oursecretspace/5966.html#cutid1), [21](http://oursecretspace.livejournal.com/6166.html#cutid1), [22](http://oursecretspace.livejournal.com/6876.html#cutid1), [23](http://oursecretspace.livejournal.com/6978.html#cutid1), [24](http://oursecretspace.livejournal.com/7403.html#cutid1), [25](http://oursecretspace.livejournal.com/7538.html#cutid1)  
  


\---

 

The first time James crashed out of rehab, we knew it was coming.

Carlos got him into this top of the line, super discreet outpatient substance abuse treatment center. It was all voluntary, all very civil. James signed releases, allowing Carlos, Logan, and I full access to status updates. He made it through detox. Then the program recommended all these _services_. They wanted him to take part in programs, twenty four seven.

The first few days, James dutifully attended counseling and anger management. He let Logan and I chauffeur him from one appointment to the next. He submitted to drug screenings and barely complained. It was going great; right up until we started getting calls from the counselors.

James skipped group. He refused to piss in a cup. He stopped showing up to his individual counseling sessions. He quit checking in with his mentor. We couldn’t babysit him all the time and James kept finding ways to slip through the cracks. There were times when he got shifty; when he would try to sneak phone calls or leave the house without telling us. Those were the times when we’d gather close and wait for him to return, a sobbing mess. The program was threatening to discharge him for noncompliance.

Nonfuckingcompliance. It was a word I got intimately familiar with over the next few months, and I hated it. It made our reality sound nonthreatening. Like James was having a simple lapse in obedience.

Like the program wasn’t actually saying that James just couldn’t stay sober.

We all started to despair. James refused to keep going.

“You understand that we’ll have to discharge him. We have spots to fill, and people more willing to work towards recovery. It doesn’t mean that Mr. Diamond won’t ever quit,” his therapist told me on the phone that morning, all professional voice and brisk tone. “It just means that right now he’s not ready to. One day he will be. I suggest looking into other programs that will fit Mr. Diamond’s needs better than we ever could.”

“Right. Thanks,” I said, translating the words for what they were. The program was giving up on him.

I won’t lie. I was pissed. I headed straight to the guest suite where James was staying, fully intent on giving him a piece of my mind. But when I got to the top of the stairs, I stopped. There was music coming from James’s room. It was the sweet twang of a guitar, of a melody starting to form like pieces of a puzzle. The sound reverberated in my chest, turning my bones to liquid. All of my frazzled nerves disintegrated.

I couldn’t yell at him.

I couldn’t even find the words I needed to tell him that I was disappointed. He’d made one stupid mistake; surely the last in a long line of them. We’d find him another treatment program. A better one.

I sagged against the door, listening to James strum away like he was plucking at my heart strings. I hoped to God that his therapist was right. James was capable of being better.

He had to be.

The second time things went sour, James had gotten sneaky. All the reports we were getting said that he was doing great. He looked healthier. He acted happier. As far as I could tell, he never tried to sneak out. I really thought that James had kicked the habit. He was always around the mansion, hanging out with Carlos, Stephanie, and the twins- oh yeah. The twins.

Stephanie had her babies one day in early winter. I was hanging around the lobby of James’s newest program, flipping through a pamphlet that detailed the signs of crystal meth addiction when I got a phone call. I stepped out into the sunlight; it was a breezy, gorgeous day in December. 

I missed the snow, but I never said that out loud.

Sighing, I picked up the phone.

“Hey Carlos, what’s up?”

My answer was a loud, eardrum piercing scream.

“Carlos?”

There was another scream, but this one was long enough that I could tell it was more of a _whoop_.

I could only think of one reason for him to make that sound.

Okay, two, but I seriously doubted the director on set decided to let Carlos fly his private jet.

“Is it baby time?”

Carlos yelled again, and then hung up. I frowned and thought that it sure as _hell_ better have been baby time, because I was going to be really pissed if he accidentally butt dialed me during some kind of fucked up pregnancy sex game.

Turned out, it _was_ baby time. James and I went straight to the hospital from rehab, panicking on Carlos’s behalf. We spent hectic hours waiting it out, and then, once the babies were born, we weren’t really allowed to see them outside of their little spaceship plastic cubes because we weren’t family.

The day they got discharged from the hospital was our first official introduction. Logan and I cooed over the twins in the most ridiculous way possible, but James hung back, idle in a corner while we alternated between showering love on our soon-to-be godchildren and helping Stephanie pack up her things.

I wasn’t the only one who noticed James’s all over aura of _awkward_.

“James,” Stephanie said, smiling softly at her baby, “Don’t you want to hold her?”

She offered up her newborn girl, full of perfect love and trust. Being a mother really suited her.

“What if I drop it on the head?” James asked doubtfully. I snorted, because I’d felt the same way the first time I held Katie in my arms, back when I was six. I’d been terrified that she would slip, and I’d constantly barraged my mom with questions about whether or not babies bounced.

“It’s not an _it_ , it’s a she. I mean, _she’s_ a she,” Stephanie retorted, incensed. “And he’s a he.”

Carlos glanced up from where he was cradling his baby boy.

“He’s Superman,” he corrected. “And she’s my little Wonder Woman.”

Carlos blew Stephanie an air kiss, which she returned. I suppressed the urge to gag like a teenager.

“I don’t know.” James frowned at the baby, who seemed to have several doubts of her own about him. She’d gone from making gurgling noises to making faces, her tiny little mouth scrunching up like she might cry.

“Here.” I stepped in smoothly. “Let me.”

I took her gently from Stephanie’s arms and before James could protest and plopped her into his. He stood stone still, frozen with fear.

“She’s not a glass vase, James.”

“I know.” He shifted his arms a little, trying to contain her squirming. “Vases don’t move.”

I laughed, moving closer, cupping my hands around his bicep and the back of his neck. “It’s okay. Just breathe. You’re doing fine.”

Instinctively, James’s head tipped forward, tilting towards mine until our foreheads were close to touching.

“She’s pretty cute, isn’t she?”

“She is,” I agreed, because both babies were beautiful. Obviously a byproduct of having two gorgeous parents.

“She must take after her uncle James,” he whispered, so that only the baby and I could hear him. I laughed again, surprised by how quickly he’d adjusted.

James didn’t even seem to notice, too busy humming lullabies while he rocked the little girl in his arms.

He spent the next few weeks adoring the newest additions to the Garcia clan, never straying far from home. So yeah. I thought things were going _perfectly_.

Until I got a phone call.

This time, I managed to actually let myself into James’s room, where I mustered up my best frown. He was lying on his bed, watching the plasma screen and looking more than a little confused by my ire.

“Your doctor says you relapsed.” I shook my cell phone at him. “Heroin?”

“I didn’t,” James replied, and he was almost pouting. His lower lip jutted out impetuously, and I wasn’t sure if it was because of the accusation or because I was blockingthe E! True Hollywood Story he’d been attempting to watch.

“Then how’d you test positive for it?”

James’s expression shut down. I’d heard rumors that there were things people could do to shield themselves from drug tests. I had the horrible realization that James had probably been doing some of those things. He’d obviously expected the latest test to come back clean. He’d been hiding it from us for _how long_? I couldn’t even say. I hadn’t even known he was struggling again.

The betrayal stabbed at me, but the fact that it had gone on right in front of my eyes? The knowledge was tearing me to pieces.

James didn’t want any part of my guilt. Caustically, he retorted, “I don’t know, Kendall. Maybe the last guy I sucked off coated his dick with it.”

I flinched. I knew he was trying to rile me up, but I couldn’t help it. “ _James_.”

“What?” He snapped, daring me to yell. Daring me to shout.

“James,” I said more softly. And just like that, he crumpled.

“I hate this.”

“I know.”

“The only time I feel right is when I-“ He swallowed, obviously disgusted with himself. “Or when I’m with-“ He stopped and looked at me.

In that moment, I wanted to save him. It was the strangest feeling, knowing that I could make him feel better with a word, with a kiss, but that I wouldn’t. To make him feel better in the long run, I had to let him be miserable for the moment.

I sat down on the bed and pulled James in close to my chest, breathing in the scent of him, familiar and foreign all at the same time. He smelled clean, like soap and laundry detergent and a myriad of product. I guess it said a lot about me that I was expecting the sour, unwashed scent I’d grown used to. This was the same mixture of Cuda and hair gel and _James_ that I grew up with. But somehow it was different, because night after night I’d been missing that smell. I’d fantasized about it. The reality of it was less and more. It tugged at my heart. So did the way James flinched away before hesitantly putting his hands around my neck, the gesture a caress. 

“I can’t do this,” James said quietly, voice broken. I could feel him talking into my collarbone. “I can’t do this without you. You’re not-“

“Hey.” I grabbed his chin. “I’m right here. James. I’m right here.”

“But you’re not,” he said.

“I am.” I insisted, trying to make him meet my gaze. He leaned up, trying to kiss me. His lips brushed by the corner of my mouth, and I cringed away.

James looked at me like I’d punched him, hurt clear. “See?”

He started to get up, to climb off of the bed, but I wouldn’t let him. I kept hold of his upper arm and kept him close, hugging him into my side.

“Stay,” I ordered, and he did.

I’d always had a weakness for fixing broken things. It took everything I had not to fix the cracks and caverns between us. We lay tangled there for a long time; listening to the rise and fall of each other’s chests. Somewhere between our breaths, I could taste the things that James was projecting; how much he hated me for refusing to be with him the way he wanted. I wondered if the things I was keeping locked tight were seeping into the air as well; how beautiful he was, even when he was wrecked. How much I wanted to kiss him until he couldn’t feel the pain anymore. How much I resented myself for being the obstacle between us.

And how much I resented him for the drugs. Even if it was a disease, even if it was something he couldn’t control, I _hated_ him for it. A little bit. I hated that chemicals were more important than the whole looming idea of _us_.

It wasn’t fair of me to feel that way, but I felt it all the same.

Logan came into the room about an hour later. James was fast asleep in my arms, but at the sight of our friend, I tried to disentangle myself from his grasp.

“You don’t have to.” Logan bit his lip. “Let him sleep.”

Guardedly, I settled back down. I knew full well how Logan felt about my relationship with James, even now that it had ended.

Logan sat cross legged on the floor, like he wasn’t a fully grown man. He stared up at me from the ground and murmured, “I shouldn’t have told you to stay away from James. He needs all the support he can get.”

“Logan. I appreciate it, but you were right.” I stroked James’s hair, careful not to wake him. “I’m just one more complication in his life. He can’t cope with me and rehab at the same time. I wish- but he can’t. We both just needed the space.”

Logan glanced at where James was curled into the covers, face buried in my chest.

“Yeah. Space,” he echoed.

I rolled my eyes at his skepticism. “Well. It’s hardest to go cold turkey, right?”

Logan stared at me and didn’t say anything. I couldn’t take his judgey face. “What do you want me to do? Get a restraining order against him?”

“Of course not. If you’re going to do this, it has to be this way. I get that. But…I think that maybe it’s time for you to go home. Hovering isn’t going to help anything.”

“I can’t leave. I promised,” I told him stubbornly.

“I know. I’m not saying for good. He needs you, Kendall. But you’ve got to focus on your life, and your dreams. Hockey’s not going to wait for you forever.”

As if I didn’t know that? Being back on the ice with Logan and Carlos had been something like a miracle. We were right in the dead of winter, and my bones itched to be back in my element. I’d hit the rink couple of times since, batting a puck around the ice, but it wasn’t the same thing as a real live game. I wanted to get back to my world, to everything I’d left behind.

There was one giant barricade standing in my way.

“I promised,” I repeated, like a small child clinging onto one idea. I was not going to renege on that promise. I knew what it was like to be left alone. No way would I do that to James. I was not going to become my father.

I tightened my hold on James, listening as he snuffled and burrowed deeper into my chest.

“So fly back. Every few weeks, you can fly back here and visit. The distance will help. James-“ Logan darted a look at him. “You’re right. He needs to focus on himself too.”

Logan’s words made sense. Logan always made so much fucking sense.

Stupid Logan.

“What if he- what if he gets worse? If I leave him alone-“

Logan stared up at me, shadows playing over his face. In the dim light of the bedroom, the lines at the corners of his eyes deepened. He appeared older than I’d ever seen him, and sad. I didn’t like that James and I had made Logan so very sad.

“He won’t be alone, Kendall. Neither of you are ever going to be alone. I’m so sorry that you ever thought you were.”  


\---

 

We talked to James about his relapse over breakfast the next morning.

“You need to go to an inpatient program,” I told him, right after he’d stuffed a spoonful of huevos rancheros in his mouth. James immediately choked. We waited through the coughing and spluttering and eventual act of swallowing as James got the eggs down enough to gesture wildly around Carlos’s mansion and say, “I don’t want to leave here.”

He was clearly panicking.

“Dude. I’ll visit you every day,” Carlos promised.

“What about the movie?”

Carlos had landed a prime role in some new flick with Leonardo DiCaprio. We were so proud. But we were even prouder when he said, “Fuck the movie. You guys are more important. Always.”

“You’re going to visit too, right Kendall?” James asked tentatively.

“Sure am.” I told him. Then I stuffed some egg in my face so I wouldn’t say what I was thinking. Logan was right. I’d been living in LA under the assumption that I could tuck away the pieces of myself that wanted more. I’d been able to do it as a teenager, so why wouldn’t I be able to now? I guess the flaw in my thinking was that, back then, I’d had so many years of practice at putting others first. Now I was rusty and out of tune, like the guitars sitting in my apartment, coated with dust. I could learn how to do it again, I was sure, but did I really want to?

No. It was high time I got back to my own life.

Even if James was going to hate me for it.

A few days later, I booked a flight back to Minnesota. I wasn’t breaking my promise. I told myself that over and over again. I’d be back every other weekend, rain or shine or impending hockey game. I would answer the phone every time James called, and at the first hint of trouble I’d be on a plane back to LA.

Still, I couldn’t find the courage to tell James I was going home, not until he’d completed his intake. I visited him at the program on the very first day after detox, the very first day I was allowed. I didn’t like the place at all. It was like someone had taken a rocket and tried to make it feel homey, covering art deco walls with bright, garish paintings and motivational sayings. I begged permission to take James out, just for a few hours.

“You get him for the day,” the attendant told me after I signed a mountain of paperwork, all fake smiles and condescension. It wasn’t hard to see why anyone would hate this place. I thought that James _must_ hate it.

I drove him out to the beach, where the sunlight sparkled on the water like diamonds. We walked along the sand for hours. Sometimes we would stop, and James would stand at the edge of the water, letting it lap up against his toes.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve done this,” he told me quietly. The sky was a brilliant topaz blue, but when James turned to face me, his eyes were somehow brighter, clearer. I could see every single golden-green fleck of his irises, and the brown looked like honey. He had lion’s eyes; he always had. But for the first time in a long time, I realized they weren’t clouded with the drugs or the alcohol or the sadness that I’d grown so accustomed to seeing. Maybe the rocket-ship program wasn’t so bad after all.

Just to be sure, I asked him if he liked it. “We can find you a new center, alright? There’s got to be one where the people aren’t assholes. Somewhere.”

James smiled timidly at me. “No. This is good. Just keep visiting me and- maybe I can be good too.”

I didn’t want to ruin the moment. I didn’t want to tell him I was leaving. My heart was turning to lead in my chest at the thought.

I told him.

All that clarity in his eyes vanished.  


\---

 

Logan drove me to the airport. We said goodbye at the drop off point, and I basically had a panic attack.

“I could stay.”

Logan frowned at me. “You really can’t.”

“I’m scared,” I confessed, watching a family of German tourists drag their suitcases along the sidewalk. I tapped my fingers on the ledge of the car’s window, full of frenetic energy.

Logan tilted his head and shrugged. “I know. Does it help to say it out loud?”

“Not really.” I was going to puke. I was definitely going to puke. I couldn’t leave. How could I possibly leave?

“Dude, you’re going to be fine.”

Easy for him to say.

“When are you going back to Florida?”

Logan began to turn red, a flush creeping up the shell of his ears. “I don’t know if I am.”

“What?”

“Camille and I. Um.”

Oh.

“Are you going to quit your job?”

“Probably. I’ve been checking around- I think St. Joseph’s might need a new pediatric surgeon. It’s a bit of a drive from LA, but for Camille?” He grinned ruefully. “The drive’s worth it. Now shoo, you’re going to miss your flight.”

I clutched the handle of my suitcase. “Take care of James for me?”

“Kendall,” Logan warned. “You’re too attached.”

“Logan. I’ve had twenty nine years to get attached. It’s too late to tell me it’s _too much_ now.”

“You know what I mean.” Logan paused. He watched a little girl clutching a Beauty and the Beast duffel bag to her chest while she said goodbye to her parents. Quietly, he asked, “Are you still in love with him?”

I didn’t say anything.

We both knew what the answer to that question was.  


\---

 

Being in Minnesota again was one of the hardest things I’d ever done. It was home, but it didn’t feel like that anymore. Not when my thoughts were a thousand miles away, on a long stretch of coast, with James. I couldn’t shake the image of him standing in the Pacific; his distant eyes and how very lost he seemed once I told him that I was going. I couldn’t shake the nights we’d spent together, or the way he’d made me feel. I was terrified that in my absence something would happen. All of my dreams turned to night terrors. 

In the meantime, I had to go back to the team, to the people I’d left behind. The Wild was in the off season, practicing form and trying to perfect game strategy. My first day back in the locker room was terrifying. Especially when I came face to face with one of my teammates, all sadistic smiles and mean spirited words. He slammed a meaty hand into my locker and said, “Hey, fag. You back for good?”

My first instinct was to duck my head, to hide away.

I ignored it. Instead, I fisted my hand in the front of his shirt and hissed, “If you want to keep your teeth, you’ll never fucking say that word again.”

His eyes got wide. “Jesus Christ, Knight, I was just kidding around.”

“Yeah, let me explain this in a way you’ll understand. You’re not funny.” I took a deep breath, trying to calm my anger. “Teams don’t break each other down; they work together. Otherwise they don’t fucking _work_.”

“Understood.” The guy nodded frantically.

After that, I felt a little better. It was still hard, getting back into the groove of things. Despite all the horrible, mixed up shit I’d gone through with the Wild, they were my team, they were my brothers. I hadn’t known it at the time, but I’d belonged with them. Instead of embracing it, I’d left them all behind, like they were disposable. Not everyone was ecstatic or even ambivalent about the fact that I’d walked back into the locker room like the prodigal son returned. Some of my teammates were straight up pissed.

Lucky for me, we were guys. We didn’t sort through our hurt feelings and guilt with words and soppy tears. We took it out on the ice. I ended up with more than a few _accidental_ bruises my first few days back, but I knew that slowly but surely I was being forgiven.

Then there was my other problem. I was never going to be one of those people who could put the memories of the people I loved away in boxes, tucked into the dark corners of my mind. I missed James, and Carlos, and Logan.

I got a phone call less than a week later from Carlos, saying that James had left inpatient. I flew back to LA immediately, just for the weekend. When I got there, my reception was less than enthusiastic.

“You’re back,” James said dully.

“I told you I wouldn’t be gone for good. What did you do?”

“What does it look like I did?”

I opened my mouth, but James said, “Don’t even start. Carlos reamed me out for like, three hours.”

“You deserved every minute. Why would you check out? You told me you _liked_ it there.”

“I changed my mind.”

“You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to change your mind. When Carlos called me- god, I was terrified.” I took his face in his hands. “You can’t do that to me James. You have to be strong. You have to get better. You _have to_.”

“I’ll go back. Is that you want to hear? I can’t help it that I’m not _perfect_ ,” James ground out, tears shining at the corner of his eyes. Great.

I backtracked. “Hey, no. You’re doing fine. No one expected you to figure this out in a day.”

“No one expects anything from me,” James said miserably. “I’m a fuck up.”

“You’re not. Hey. Shh. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay,” I said, stroking his hair.

It was just like the last time he faltered; me holding him on the bed until he fell asleep. I knew the next morning he’d go back to inpatient. It was like I was his rebound drug.

I didn’t know how to feel about that.  


\---

 

Time passed. I split my months between California and the team, whether it was in Minnesota or out on away games. I sat on airplanes and buses watching the ground grow smaller or larger or just spin by, endless landscapes that didn’t mean a thing. They were places between goals; hockey, James, hockey, James. I spent hundreds of nights crashed out on Carlos’s couch, having horror movie marathon nights with the guys. Every time I had to leave again, I wanted to fold James up into my luggage and take him with me. When I was gone, I spent hours on the phone, checking in on him or his counselors.

His newest therapist told me a lot of things about addiction and how its claws penetrate deep. But she also told me that despite all of James’s fumbling, he was one of the most determined fighters she’d ever seen. She had faith that he could shake it if he could find the right motivation, the right moment, the right combination of fortuitous circumstances that would help him get his life together.

I prayed all the time that she was right.

I spent more time talking to my mom and my little sister than I ever had prior to my return to LA. Before my break from the Wild, I’d checked in with them once or twice a week. Now I talked to them almost daily.

Our conversations usually revolved around my love life. Apparently, as my thirtieth birthday came and went, so did the time for tact and privacy.

“You need to go on a date,” Katie said. “It’s been a year. Everyone’s moved on but you.”

_Ouch_.

“You need to mind your own business.”

“I would love to, but my stupid brother keeps calling and crying my ear off.”

“I did not cry.”

“I’m pretty sure I heard tears.”

“You can’t hear tears.”

“I can hear how pathetic you sound right now. Go on a date. Get out there.”

“I don’t- have time,” I said lamely. “To meet people.”

“Oh, I can solve that. How about I set you up? Now, I know your type, but I think maybe it’s time to move away from the fey pretty-boys. How do you feel about bears?”

“Katie,” I squeaked.

“Body hair? Burly arms? Do you like to be thrown over the side of the bed and fuc-“

“Katie!” I shouted; anything to make her stop.

It wasn’t just way her words were completely mortifying me. It was also the images the words recalled, of the time that James shoved me up against the wall and-

“Geez, no need to yell. I’m trying to be helpful. You need to get laid.”

“I’ll take that under advisement.”

“You do that. Love you, big bro. You’ll be fine once you get some dick in your-“

ldquo;Hanging up now,” I warned. Katie’s laughter was the last thing I heard before the phone clicked off.

After that- well. I didn’t date. I won’t say I didn’t have sex, because Katie was right. James and I had been over for a year, and I was still figuring out how to be alone.

I didn’t think I’d ever be done figuring that out. Human beings are social creatures. No matter how independent we are, sometimes we just need the heat of another person.

I felt awful about it afterwards, though, which made zero sense. It wasn’t like James and I had made any promises to each other. Hearts do not get conquered or owned. They are things that a person has to give away, and James had never once said anything about giving his heart to me. He hated me at least three quarters of the time, and when- _if_ he managed to get sober, I wasn’t sure if he was going to want anything to do with me as something more. But love is weird. It gets under your skin, and it’s nearly impossible to get rid of.

The worst part was, I knew James really had moved on. There was more than one night where I’d called and heard a girl, the same one over and over, laughing in the background, calling his name in a sweet voice. I never asked him about it, but I felt those calls like knives to the gut.

I didn’t hit girls, but I wanted to hit this girl. I wanted to watch her teeth fall out, and the violence of the idea scared me. I imagined it over and over in my head, trying to figure out if her hair was red or brown or blonde. The narcissistic part of me chose blonde.

During one call, I imagined tugging her pretty blonde hair out by the roots, and after I hung up I walked outside and flopped down into the snow. Ideas like that were what had gotten me in trouble with Joseph.

Look how that turned out.

My parka was water proof, but the cold still sunk into my bones through the nylon, cooling my rage. I was an idiot. Katie was right. It had been a year. It was time for me to move on.

I didn’t want to move on.

I spread out my arms and legs like I was making a half hearted snow angel. The guys and I used to lie on the lawn at the first touch of fresh powder, competing to see which of us could make the best angel. But inevitably, the second we all stood we got footprints all over the pretty silhouettes. Perfection didn’t exist, not even then.

We still tried, every winter. I moved my arms and legs back and forth, trying to fight off the numbness of the cold. When I was done, I carefully clambered to my feet, feeling old and young, pleased and stupid, all at the same time. There wasn’t a single footprint in my angel’s silhouette.

It didn’t look right. Frowning, I stomped right down on the middle of its chest, the imprint of a hiking boot right over its heart. There. At least she looked how I felt.

It was the closest I’d ever get to confronting that girl whose voice I’d heard, I knew. I’d learned my lesson about talking to James’s lovers. My homework was six feet underneath the ground, rotting.

My guilt over Joseph didn’t change the jealousy that burned in my chest. I could admit to myself on quiet, lonely nights that James was what I wanted; not just his body and his voice, but every part of him. He wasn’t the carefree kid I’d known growing up, but I didn’t care. I liked his flaws, his vulnerabilities. I liked that he was still a vain, competitive asshole beneath the weight of all his problems, and I liked the way that he’d cared so much about all of us that he’d let it break him. In a fucked up way, I even liked how he’d tried to make me a part of his world. James had developed his own little family in his drug den theater, shunning everything about his old life, but I was the one thing he’d allowed back in. Objectively speaking, it was pretty flattering.

Maybe that was why, at night, when I closed my eyes, James was all I could see. I kept remembering the first time we’d made love, the way his eyes had gone tender, his hands fluttery, gentle. He’d treated me like I was delicate, like I was a miracle, when I’d seen myself as an aberration. Even in the midst of a drug-fueled stupor, he’d seen the parts of me that I’d thought I’d lost. I needed to thank him for that one day, but I didn’t know how. So instead I remembered, until the remembering got to be too much. My brain was overloaded with images of James, moving inside of me, behind me, over me. Somewhere along the way, he’d earned a starring role in every single one of my fantasies. I couldn’t say that I minded. There was more than one lonely evening where I’d slip my hand down low and bring myself off with his face clear in mind. Except for one thing.

In my fantasies, James was always whole again.

\---

I was at an away game in- God, where was I? Not near James. Not the only place I wanted to be. I think there was a lot of corn. Well, I was at an away game _somewhere_ when I got the call.

“You’re getting married?” I asked the phone dumbly.

“In December,” Logan confirmed, and even over the cell I could tell he was beaming.

“I didn’t even know you were planning on asking Camille- wait, you are marrying Camille, right?”

“Of course it’s Camille, jackass. And _she_ asked _me_.”

I grinned. Yeah. That sounded like Camille.

ldquo;You are such a sap,” I told him, but I was beaming from ear to ear.

We discussed the plans for the wedding, which didn’t amount to much so far. The proposal had taken place that very afternoon, and I was the third person Logan had told, right after Carlos and James.

“How is James?” I asked, tentatively. I’d been to LA less than a month ago, but James and I hadn’t discussed his recovery. He’d finished inpatient a while back, but I didn’t want to pry. Instead, we’d curled up on the couch, inches between us, and watched slasher movies until the sun rose over the horizon. I’d had to leave the next morning for a game, and even though he’d seemed okay, I hadn’t been able to ask.

The okay times were the ones that scared me; I never knew when they’d slip from my fingers.

“Five months sober, dude.” Logan said softly. “He’s doing so well.”

The words felt like hope.  


 

\---

 

Weddings always freaked me out.

Don’t get me wrong; I was ecstatic for Logan and Camille, really. But the big ceremony? The permanency? The priest? Even as an invited guest, I felt like I was intruding on someone else’s happiness.

James didn’t look all that comfortable either, standing in the sand, shifting from foot to foot. The last time I’d seen him move and twitch so much, he’d been on a coke bender, but today his eyes were perfectly clear.

It was a beach wedding. The weather was beautiful. The ornate, straight backed chairs Camille had brought in probably cost a mint. They dripped with flowers: carnations and baby’s breath and other things I couldn’t name. Simple blossoms that accented how beautiful the bride looked. Camille was resplendent in pearls and lace, this high-necked old school Hollywood throwback to glamour and beauty.

The ceremony was long, and there was a lot of droning on about eternal love and until death do us part. Scary words. I couldn’t imagine being committed to a single person for my entire life.

Except then I looked at James, and it didn’t seem as impossible. He looked amazing in his tuxedo.

He looked like the person I left behind so many years ago.

I wondered if I’d ever meet another person who would make me feel as much or as deeply. Probably not. I was doomed to a life of being miserable and alone. At least they were states of being I’d grown accustomed to.

I whistled as loud as I could when Logan kissed the bride. Whether I hated weddings or not, I loved Logan and Camille. I was so happy for them.

The reception was a classy affair inside a coastal hotel. We were dancers by nature, and we all got down on the floor pretty hard. At one point, I found myself pressed in close to James.

Who almost immediately backed off.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to-"

I grabbed his hand, bringing him back to me so that we could dance. “Don’t be sorry.”

“I hate weddings,” he confessed once he was in close, echoing my own sentiments exactly. “I mean, they belong together, but-“

“I get it. At least you can hook up with a bridesmaid,” I said carelessly as we swayed, thinking of the woman on the other end of the phone, always there when I called. My mouth snapped shut right after the words tumbled out, because they were uncalled for, and because they were venomous. Where had all the sudden spite come from? I wasn’t mad at James for having a life when I was basically tied down to the team and his memory. I really wasn’t.

I also wasn’t sure that he should be dating when he was in the midst of recovery, but if dating helped, then I was happy he was doing it. Right?

The echo of laughter rang in my ears and I cringed. Maybe happy wasn’t the right word.

James looked confused.

“Why would I want to-“ his expression went flat. He asked, “Do you want to bang an usher?”

“What? No. But I mean, I know you’re- um. I heard that girl. On the phone, the other day.”

And all the days before that.

“The phone?” James said blankly. I could physically see him trying to sort out what I was saying. “No! That’s one of Stephanie’s friends. The kids’ godmom? We were just-“

“It’s okay. You’re allowed to date, dude.”

“I’m not interested in dating,” James said quietly.

The words shouldn’t have made me feel better, but they did. How pathetic was I?

“Are you already-“ James squeezed his eyes shut. “Never mind. It’s none of my business whether you’re in a relationship.”

“I’m not. There’s no one.” I squeezed his arm. “I’m not interested in dating right now either.”

“But you could-“

“No,” I told him, fiercely. “I really can’t. I. Um. I _tried_ , and I just can’t.”

James winced at my confession, but it had to be done. No more lies. I pressed our foreheads together. We weren’t dancing anymore, even though the music swelled around us.

“This conversation is really awkward.”

“Yeah,” I laughed shakily. “It is. Can we just dance?”

“I’d like that.”

Unfortunately, I was incapable of keeping my mouth shut. The next slow song that rolled around, when we were pressed chest to chest, I asked, “You regret it, don’t you?”

“Regret what?” James asked in a low murmur. He thought I was talking about the drugs, and he didn’t want the rest of Logan’s wedding party to hear.

“Me. Coming back into your life,” I said quickly, because I didn’t want to hear if he regretted anything specific, like the things we’d done together. It had occurred to me more than once that most of my, um, relations with James occurred under the influence. I’d taken advantage of him. Didn’t they say that sleeping with drunks when you were sober was almost like rape? I knew if James felt that way he’d never tell me in so many words, but I was scared. I didn’t think I’d be able to handle hearing that something that meant so much to me meant very little to him. And yeah, I know he’d been sober once or twice, and then in the hospital when he’d told me he needed me, and so many times since, but that could have just been like, Stockholm Syndrome.

I’d thought about it a lot more than I liked to admit.

James stared at me, eyes soft. “I resented you. A lot. At the bar, you were the same guy who’d left me behind. You were still happy and concerned and lost in this fantasy that things could be the _same_. I thought your life was perfect.”

He laughed, because obviously he’d learned very differently by now.

“I wanted to destroy that.” James’s fingers drifted to my chin. “All that happiness you didn’t deserve to have, when I was so miserable. I hated that you’d survived me.”

Had I? It didn’t feel that way.

I took what he was saying in, looking into his eyes; so soft for such hard words. We were still moving together to the music, still swaying against each other. James’s hand was firm on the small of my back. I kept mine wrapped around his neck, keeping him close.

“The more time I spent with you, the more I hated myself, too. I started wanting to be better. I’d thought about it before, but it wasn’t something I’d honestly considered for a long, long time. And the wanting hurt. So I despised you for that too. Kendall, the drugs made me feel invincible. You made me feel small, like I barely even existed.” James took a deep breath and said, “You made me regret throwing my life away. But if you hadn’t been so stupidly obnoxious, I never would have gotten my life back. I never would have been here.”

He gestured at Logan and Camille spinning past, and Carlos and Stephanie, smiling and laughing with Katie and Carlos’s mom.

“There were a lot of times I wished you’d go back to Minnesota, because you changed everything. Most of all when Joseph died. But right now, sober, dancing?” James’s eyes sparkled. “I don’t regret that you came back. Now.” He lifted my chin even higher, like proximity would help him decipher my gaze. “Are you asking if I regret you?”

He saw right through to the heart of my problem. Damnit. I bit my lip and refused to answer. James shook his head and laughed again, high and familiar. “Maybe I’ll tell you someday.”

In that moment, I wanted to kiss James.

So I tried.

James reeled back so fast that I was sure he had whiplash. Quietly, he said, “Kendall. We can’t.”

I thought that was my answer right there.  


 

\---

 

The change was gradual. There wasn’t ever a day where James was just different. The addict in him was here to stay, forever. It was going to be a lifelong battle. But there was also a part of James that was a fighter, just like his therapist said, and that part of him grew stronger, day by day.

Slowly, but surely, it became a war he could choose to win, if he wanted. And he did want it. James was putting his life back together.

A few months after the wedding, James began working with Kelly at her label, putting together- well, something. James was being hush-hush about it, but whatever it was had him coming home every day, grinning from ear to ear.

A few months after that, he unveiled his demo album to the three of us, plus Stephanie, Camille, and the twins. The twins were in the midst of a rampage that involved tearing apart their toy box in search of their elusive teddy bear when James put on the first song. They stopped in their tracks, little one and half year old ears perking up.

I didn’t blame them. The music James made? It was the best I’d ever heard.

Things started picking up after that. James made the tentative step of moving out of Carlos’s place. All of us visited his new apartment on a rotating basis, daily, but James never disappointed. He didn’t slip up.

Four months later, his new record dropped.

It was insanely successful.

The downside to all that success was that I didn’t get to see James as often. I had my career, and now, he had his. Kelly kept a pretty close eye on him, and I knew that both Carlos and Logan were taking turns as lookout. Thing was, Carlos had his kids, and Logan had his new wife, and James had to do interviews and photo shoots and a tour. Wainwright Records kept his schedule as low-key as possible, but James was quickly becoming the next big thing.

I worried, all the time. I flew out to LA so often that I was getting in trouble at work. And one day, I got there, only to find out that James wasn’t. He was in New York, singing for a crowd of thousands.

He didn’t need me anymore.

That was the idea, like poison, that had seeped into my brain. And in a way, I was glad for it. James should not have had to live his life dependant on another person. He was always meant to be magnificent, independent, a _star_. I still talked to him on the phone practically every other night, and I still saw him more often than I even saw Katie. I really couldn’t complain.

At least he could no longer insist that we weren’t _best_ friends.  


 

\---

 

It was kind of a big deal.

We were in the third period, tied, and the other team was tougher than I remembered. The scar on my head twinged in memory as I skated past the asshole who had given it to me, his breath coming out in clouds.

I was on fire. I was going to win this game.

The ice under my skates felt like it was urging me forward, and even though I could hear the rough slam of bodies hitting the backboards behind me, I kept going, zoomed in on my target. The goal was just ahead.

Energy moved from my lower back up along my spine, into my shoulders, and into my arms. I swung back, putting all my strength into it as I slammed forward, driving the stick straight into the puck right as the buzzer sounded. The crack of wood hitting plastic filled the air like a gunshot, familiar and welcome, followed by the whoosh of the goal. I’d aimed true.

Behind the net, I could see the crowd go insane.

The crowd didn’t matter. The only things that I could comprehend in that exact moment was the crisp, chill air in my lungs, the adrenaline rushing through my veins, and that right in the middle of that crowd were the three people I most wanted to see.

I wouldn’t be lying if I said that Logan, Carlos, and James were the reason I made it through the game. The three of them had flown out special to watch, just for me. They’d known I was nervous.

They’d known because I’d told them, finally, about the reason I’d quit hockey in the first place. I’d been more ashamed of that secret than I had of being gay. Guys like me weren’t supposed to let head wounds and harsh words divert them from their dreams, but none of the guys had seemed to care. They’d been righteously outraged on my behalf, threatening to take the player down.

I’d wanted a fair fight, so I politely refused. But they still flew in for moral support, and I could see them now, my gaze snapping to them even in the midst of the celebration. They stood out like neon lights; the movie star, the doctor, and the best singer in the world, all looking at me with love and loyalty and everything I still wasn’t sure I deserved. I cast them my best grin before I let my team sweep me off the ice with a chorus of cheering and a barrage of nudging and shoulder clapping to guide me home.

In the showers, I took my time, because I knew that the guys had flights to catch almost immediately and wouldn’t be able to stick around. I’d see them next week when I flew back to LA anyway, because I did that now. I _visited_. Not to check on James’s progress; just to actually visit. I liked spending time with my god-kids, with Carlos, Stephanie, Camille, and Logan. I liked seeing my mom and Katie, even though they were constantly nagging me to settle down with a nice boy already. And if James was there, I liked seeing him too.

When I stepped out into the changing room, towel wrapped around my hips, I was shocked to see that James was leaning in the doorframe; shades perched on his nose like he was soaking in the sun instead of our flickering fluorescent lights.

“Not going to lie. That was pretty impressive.”

“Says the man who’s got the highest selling single on iTunes for three weeks running.”

“You saw that?” James wrinkled his nose. “Are you still keeping tabs on me?”

“I’m never going to stop keeping tabs on you.”

“I’m okay now, you know. It’s a struggle, but-“

“I know.” I grinned. He’d been sober for nearly a year. Really, legitimately sober. The record company conducted random drug screens, and James hadn’t been positive. Not even once. I couldn’t have been prouder.

“Then why the alert?”

“Um, because I want to be the first person to know when my best friend gets nominated for a Grammy, obviously.”

And, I didn’t voice it out loud, but I liked seeing James making headlines. When I wasn’t in California, it was comforting to see his name in the news and to know that he hadn’t vanished off the face of the earth. I never wanted that to happen ever again. I think James knew, too, because he smiled sheepishly and said, “Do you want to go get a coffee?”

“I would love to,” I said, throwing on some clothes and grabbing my duffel bag.

It was snowing outside, the powder soft and fresh and new. My wet hair turned to icicles in seconds, and I nearly ended up slipping and falling on my ass halfway to James’s car. He caught me with a steady hand. His fingers were warm in my grasp. I found my footing.

When James went to pull away, I didn’t let him. Instead, I laced our fingers together and squeezed. It was a risky move after what happened at the wedding, but I couldn’t help it.

He didn’t pull away.

“I don’t regret it,” he told me, squeezing my hand. His irises were luminous beneath the slate colored sky.

“Regret what?” I asked, snow melting against my skin. I was still coming down from the adrenaline of the game, and I couldn’t think straight.

“You.” James said, eyes blazing. “I could never regret you.”

He gave me the softest, fondest smile, and it belonged to a seventeen year old boy-god and a twenty nine year old drug addict and this thirty one year old superstar.

It was the same smile James has been giving me my entire life, and I thought, yeah.

We were going to be okay.  


 

\---

The End

  



End file.
